Snow Yeti
by flah7
Summary: A Snow Yeti, a missing team, a rescue. Oh and a Wraith Worshipper too. Team fic with Beckett
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Snow Yeti

**Author:** Heatherf

**Disclaimers**: Don't own'em, no money made etc.

**Thanks:** NT and MegT. Their patience and brilliance with the English language astounds me.

**Spoilers:** Nope (or I don't think so)

**Characters:** Team with Beckett

**Warnings:** English language, grammar, spelling, and other assorted things that just seem so far out of reach. Any words that look made up are…and are mine. All mistakes are mine. Worked on the story mostly while riding the Bike of Doom.

**Rating:** PG (I'd let Emmit read it)

**Summary:** A Snow Yeti, a missing team, a rescue. Oh and a Wraith Worshipper too.

**Complete:** 4/21/07 (but MegT taught me to part it out---but my impatience may lead to a chapter or more a day---who knows)

* * *

**Part 1: **

A sharp gust of wind shot over the open ice. Snow swirled into the air briefly before settling and streaming parallel across the barren ice plain.

Sheppard hunched his heavily coated shoulders, drawing the points of his collarbones in closer together while sucking his chest and abdomen inward and tucking his chin deep to his torso.

Fine, unseen hairs stood and curled back toward the goose bumped skin.

The wind cut through him, needling its way between bright red seams and double and triple stitching. It wound its way around black velcro patches and seeped through heavy zipper teeth. It spread like a reaching cold North Atlantic Ocean wave across his clothing, fingering his skin and stinging him.

It sliced to his core like the sharp bite of glacier run off.

It hurt.

His eyes watered slightly, but remained unfrozen, hidden and protected behind wrap around goggles and tinted specially manufactured 'glass'. Even if each exhale was not blocked and rerouted by humidified neoprene oxygen mask that clung to the majority of his face, the crystallized breath would not be seen in the howling wind that scoured the vast empty ice fields which spread for as far as the eye could see in all directions.

The flap of manufactured fabric competed tirelessly with the drone of constant wind.

Small angulated drifts of blown snow rose sharply above the frozen surface of the vast undulating winter step.

Off in the far distance, a dark wall of overriding glaciers and jutting rock leered far above the ice, creating nothing more than a hint of shadow.

Unobstructed sunlight beat down on his team. Crisp blue skies stretched high overhead, unmarred by passing clouds. Piercing solar light blazed unhindered, glittering off the bare ice, dancing on crystallized particles that whipped about, caught in the torrent of relentless wind.

When the gust gave way, lost its brutal push and settled back to any easy tireless zephyr, Sheppard untucked his chin and glanced down at Ronon.

The big Satedan knelt one knee on the field, running bright red mitten hands over the uneven, wrinkled ice. No blowing sharp slivers of drifting snow marred this section of frozen terra. The sheet of ice they stood upon was dangerously smooth.

No boot prints were discernable in the polarized light created by slightly frosted goggles.

The large spot of orange embedded in the ice was hard to miss. A signal flag, almost.

The colonel recognized it for what it was, frozen blood. The deep maroons and bright reds of unoxygenated and oxygenated blood turned a muted orange in snow and ice. Blood had hit the ice, melting it slightly, dispersing itself and seeping a little less than an inch before freezing. Orange.

"They were here. Someone was injured," Ronon stated peering up from the ice and swiveling his eyes left and right searching for any sign of the others or a potential enemy.

McKay stood just to the side of Sheppard and a half step behind, using the colonel's form as a partial wind block. The life signs detector blinked on and off losing its battle with the bitter cold. Rodney shook it a few times, used a bulky mittened hand to try to adjust settings and shook his head in frustration. The astrophysicist knew better than to expose bare skin to this kind of temperature.

Ice crystals formed and ruptured tissue on a cellular level.

A puddle jumper would have been nice. _Jump through the gate, do a little recon, find the others head home._ Simple, quick to the point. However, the severe fluctuations in the atmospheric magnetic field of the planet wreaked havoc with Ancient and Earth technologies. Rodney held the near useless life sign's detector in the hopes that during a flip of magnetic resonance the device would work.

Sheppard's casual attempt at understanding the problems related with this planet's atmospheric conditions and technology though bumbling, offered an adequate if not slightly lacking description, that was dripping with imprecision. However, it got the point across. Technology would work about as well as a cell phone in a dead zone. It could possibly pick up an intermittent, unreliable signal. Sheppard's "Can you hear me now?" analogy just about summoned up their troubles in a simpleton's manner.

It was worth trying with a life signs detector. Not so much with a puddle jumper.

"Can we stay airborne now?" would not be good for anyone if they were cruising right along at high speeds and with any type of altitude. Hitting a 'dead spot' would take on a whole new meaning. Technically it wasn't a lack of signal--- not at all---and the explanation had McKay seething. Zelenka, however, grimaced but nodded in agreement though it might have been a little painful. If a puddle jumper were airborne during such a disturbance, the strange unusual magnetic waves would result in technology blinking and shutting down.

Never a good thing. McKay had experienced first hand the puddle jumper's inability to glide or float.

Rodney huffed in frustration. Nothing ever seemed easy in the Pegasus Galaxy. Pegasus apparently didn't get the same handbook on astrophysics as the Milky Way. Very frustrating, very, very frustrating, and inconveniencing.

McKay stowed the instrument and turned his attention to the others.

Teyla seemingly ignored them. Her fine dark features remained hidden under her protective goggles, mixed neoprene oxygen mask and thick fur lined parka hood. The Athosian stood braced against the wind and scanned their immediate area.

"They went that way." Ronon's deep voice sounded tinny over their hidden earpieces. "There are four left."

Dex straightened. The thick quilted material of his bright red winter suit crackled. His boots squeaked in the dry snow as heavy two inch thick tread bit into the unyielding surface of the ice below.

Weapons were kept strapped to heavy outer jackets, but wrapped in their own protective covering, shielding the working mechanisms from the brutal wind that razed the desolate area.

Bulky packs were re-adjusted, chest and waist straps double checked. This trip through the gate herald more survival gear and food as well as weapons.

An off world team was late checking in, by hours.

Nothing good could come of it. The planet was supposed to be uninhabited. The ancients kept minimal data about P3X-423.

The P was for Popsicle, at least to the Colonel's way of thinking. 423 was just a cute way to spell 'ice', though he doubted the Ancients had realized it.

"Let's go," Sheppard ordered. His voice was lost behind the pale yellow neoprene, but rang loudly over earpieces. His boots squealed on the arid ice as he maneuvered around Dex and took point. He shuffled a few feet on the sheer surface until snow once again was underfoot. Each step then landed heavily, crunching through intermittent brittle thin layers of barren powder to precariously grip the rippled frozen ice below.

The group strung into single file.

Wind buffeted them from the side. Parka material was flattened against arms and legs, while fur lined hoods were smeared against unseen hat covered heads. Upper bodies were bent into the wind trying to maintain a true course and fight the constant push of the gale.

As a group, they continued to follow the trail that only Dex seemed to see from any distance.

The sun glared down, reflecting painfully back off the ice. Even through the tinted goggles, eyes still protectively squinted.

The spots of orange slowly morphed into heavier darker drops that splashed wider and drew closer together. The increasing rapidity, in which the large drops strung together, dragged the group along with building foreboding.

Whoever was bleeding was bleeding badly.

Blood on the ice meant skin was either exposed or clothing was saturated. Heat was being lost with the blood and sapped through exposure. Wet clothing offered no protection against the brutal elements.

There was too much blood.

The bleeder would not survive.

Sheppard pushed his team onward, keeping his eyes focused up, only occasionally looking down to notice the increasing crystallization of organic orange.

They stomped through haphazard sharp diagonal sheaves of knee deep snow drifts. They shuffled and slid over sheer surfaces of unmarred wind smoothed ice, and picked their way through fields of rippled, overturned, frozen heaves of water.

The wind gusted. Heavy outer layers became smashed against staggering bodies. Thin linear jets of hurtling snow scoured across the shelf, occasionally masking the ground from knees down.

Bright sun lambasted the area.

Solar warmth remained elusive.

The group trudged on.

Ronon maintained two steps behind Sheppard, his hulking frame appearing even more imposing in the heavy issued SGC gear. McKay plodded close to Dex with Teyla only a step or two behind, bringing up the rear.

"There." Ronon's deep voice pierced the thundering background noise of the relentless wind. He raised a mittened hand and pointed to a dark shape that marred the flattened ice field only a few hundred yards ahead.

Blowing ice and snow muted its edges, obscured its outline.

It simply appeared as a dark blemish in an endless see of blowing white. Nothing more than a rock, perhaps discarded equipment.

The heavy blotches of orange discolored snow dotted in a staggering fashion toward the dark bulk.

Adjusting their direction just a few degrees to the left, Sheppard followed the trail to the black mound in the expanse of unnervingly level white.

Whirls of snow whispered by at ankle height, nipping seams and threatening well-hidden flesh.

The orange drops slowly leached into a single rivulet, gaining width as the group approached the form.

A fattening orange stream, like a bucket with a steady leak; a terminal fissure.

The dark form slowly took on color. Orange. Bright fabricated orange, brighter than the muted shade that marred the ice. SGA-6's off world color. Lieutenant Wilson's team was Orange.

Sheppard's team was red. Flamboyant, 'use me as a target' red, or so Lorne and the others had laughed when SGA-1 was designated 'back up' in-case the primary team ran into trouble.

The dark blip on the ice slowly morphed into shape. One foot looked smaller than other. Less bulky, but both black. Bent, thickly covered legs became distinguishable from the pelvic region, the curled back accentuated itself from the legs and pelvis, and the rolled shoulders appeared slightly broader than the narrowing abdomen.

It had been days ago, when Beckett debriefed the off world team, SGA-6, of the dangers of bitter, arid, high altitude cold. Over steaming mugs of coffee and tea he had reiterated that death could not be declared until bodies were warmed. A simple safety precaution. They had all nodded, all understood and silently promised to heed his advice, which mingled with dire warning. Mistakes could be made when dealing with the severely hypothermic. The warmth of the conference room on Atlantis, with its platter of freshly warmed pastries seemed like a distant memory. A fading fable.

No one had foreseen this, and no one had foreseen Beckett accompanying Lieutenant Wilson off world.

Perhaps the Ancients could have invented an easy to use crystal ball. Or left better notes.

Sheppard mentally shook himself from his introspection and focused on the frozen form before him.

The body rested on its side with its back to SGA-1's approach.

Sheppard led his team forward, slowing his pace. Whoever lay exposed like this was long ago dead. The blackened bare foot was a testament to the brutal cold. The only thing thawing would accomplish would be to unleash the sickly sweet smell of necrotic flesh and death.

The colonel slowed his pace, scanning the horizon with careful eyes. Brilliant sharp daylight reflected back at him, forcing him to squint despite the protective eyewear.

Traps were often best sprung when the enemy's attention was directed elsewhere. Using the injured and the dead was a trick that seemed to bridge two galaxies.

Though here, on this planet of ice and wind, they didn't know who their enemy was, but SGA-1 now recognized an enemy lurked. Someone had been slowly and methodically taken out Lieutenant Wilson's team, one soldier at a time.

This was body number three.

Sheppard dropped into a crouch and carefully approached the form. It was just a body, just like the other two they had found previously this morning. Frozen, colorless and dead through malicious, deliberate acts. One suffered a neat bullet hole to the back of the parka hood, the other a thin slice vertical along the jugular groove and then horizontal across the trachea.

No hint of struggle on either of the marines.

Four were missing. Now only three.

A pair of discarded goggles fluttered a few yards away. The gnarled strap snagged on a jagged piece of ice. The plastic glinted in the harsh sunlight. The colored lens was snapped and cracked, the insulation around the frames torn. The goggle lens flapped and bent in the wind.

The C.B. printed on the black strap left no doubt who lost their protective eyewear.

Sheppard felt his heart lurch and stomach tighten. He swiveled his eyes to the exposed body in front of him, trying to convince himself that the size, the shape, the position were all wrong.

The goggles belonged to C.B, but the corpse in front of him did not belong to the goggles.

He nudged the orange coated body with a foot and cringed inwardly at the feel of trying to roll a boulder.

It was unmalleable, adhered to the ground. Frozen.

The colonel leaned over the corpse, trying to get a glimpse of the face. Blackened bare hands lay curled in front of the hood shrouded features. The colonel inched cautiously around the body.

The wind whistled, rattling the orange coat and teasing the fine fur that rimmed the hood.

The colonel ignored Rodney's whispered, "Carson?" when the astrophysicist spied the discarded broken goggles.

Sheppard knelt, the snow squeaked with the pivot of the ball of his booted foot.

Dex and Teyla and even Rodney searched their surroundings, ready for a potential trap.

With a mittened hand, and firm resolution, Sheppard tried to pull back the hood to expose the face of the dead. The hood remained froze, almost brittle. With a firm snap, he cracked the hood backward. The neoprene oxygen mask remained in place, the goggles crooked, but still seated in their proper place high on the bridge of the nose. The face was masked, protected from the elements. Twisting free from under the mesh of a manmade and natural fiber hat, a shock pale blond, unruly curl of hair waved and danced in the tireless wind.

"It's Wells."

"Thank-God," Rodney's whispered relief was shared but left unspoken. "Not that I wanted…"

"I know, McKay; I know."

"That leaves Dr. Beckett, Corporal Jones and Private McGilly," Teyla uttered softly.

"Looks like Carson tried to treat Wells," Sheppard muttered. He carefully eyed the body, handling it as little as possible. Booby-trapping the dead was an old sick game employed not only by the citizens of Earth, but by the Genii and a few other inhabitants of the Pegasus Galaxy.

"How'd he die?" Ronon asked. He scanned the area all around them. The dead were dead. There was no bringing them back. However, the dead could be useful. They could distract the living, they could be a wealth of information, could expose something about the enemy and they could be used as weapons.

"Looks like an animal attack…something ripped him inside out." Sheppard crinkled back one of the sides of Well's parka and paused.

"And?" Rodney asked, noting the change in demeanor in the colonel. A deadliness had settled over Sheppard. A coldness that would find no match on this planet of ice and wind.

"He's been stabbed. Knife slid up through his ribcage, near his liver….it happened after whatever attacked him."

"You are certain?" Teyla asked. She stopped tracing the horizon and focused her attention on Sheppard.

"Knife mark goes up through the bandages. He was stabbed after Carson dressed the wounds."

"Oh God," McKay muttered.

"Who would do such a thing?" Teyla whispered, shocked, but not terribly surprised by the duplicity of humans in general.

"The Doc is with a killer." Ronon's deep growl seemingly flowed under the howl of wind.

"Or killers," Rodney pointed out.

"Do you think he is aware of his situation?" Teyla asked. She squinted her eyes and stared through the glare of the reflective sunshine.

"I don't know," Sheppard mumbled. He slowly straightened, standing to his full height. The thick parka and snow pants gave him extra bulk. The gear and weapons strapped to his person only added to his size.

Wells had no gear left. He had been stripped of his weapons and dog tags.

Sheppard stared at Beckett's broken and discarded goggles and felt a knot of fear and loathing clutch his gut.

He swept the area with his protected eyes. Nothing but blinding snow for as far as the eye could see.

"The trail heads that way." Ronon pointed again with an outstretched mitten. The others followed his line of sight to the wall of jutting glaciers and erupting ice shelf. Large uneven blocks of grey granite broke up the seamless sea of white.

On Ronon's word, and skill as a tracker, the others trudged toward the raised shadowed line, away from the Gate and the DHD and toward a killer or killers and missing friends.


	2. Bumbles Bounce

**Ohh, apologize for the delay. unexpected snafu in RL**

**Part 2**

As a single file group, tethered to one another by lengths of climbing rope, Sheppard lead his team along a narrow treacherous path that etched itself along the face of large slabs of broken ice. Grey protruding crags of bare rocks and jagged teeth of ejected columns of frozen sea stretched in a zigzagging line for as far as the eye could see left and right. The cutting mix of ice and rock rose sharply, looming over the desolate plains of snow and ice.

The wind swept down the face of the convoluted wall. Sheer rock had been worn smooth over the years by the steady sharp scouring of endless airflow.

The colonel slowly led his team from one protected outcropping to another. Blistering gusts could peel even the strongest soul from a sturdy handgrip. The team dabbled only seconds in exposed areas buffeted by blasts of wind. It battered and tore at them, threatening to pummel them from their tenacious grasp to rock and glacier alike and smash them to the unyielding ice below.

The group crawled and picked their way upward, silently. The sound of harsh breathing and murmured curses occasionally interrupted the constant low whistle of wind. The going was slow, and bitter cold fatigued heavy muscles. Chests expanded, protected within multiple layers of fine clothing, hauling in steady streams of humidified bottled oxygen.

Pulses raced.

The colonel reached the summit ledge of ice and rock. Mittened hands searched for purchase as his booted heel swung up and dug in, hooking a divot. With a burst of strength, he hauled himself up over the ridge, rolling onto his side and back, sucking in great gasps of bottled air.

The wind immediately threatened to roll him back over the edge. He scrambled, and commando crawled to gain shelter behind a vertical slab of grey-black stone.

Through the blowing wind, he reached down and grabbed Ronon's arm, guiding the big Satedan up the last foot of the climb. Dex braced himself against the sudden onslaught of wind, adapting his stance to the punishing push of the air.

His red coated parka rippled fiercely, threatening the integrity of seams.

Together both men lay belly down, shoulders over the edge and heaved McKay up the last few feet. They nestled him behind the protective barrier of stone. The colonel and Dex reached back for Teyla and effortlessly hauled the Athosian off the exposed face of the wall and down beside McKay.

Rodney twisted around and peered down the slope, gauging their next obstacle. _He wasn't built billy goat tough…and certainly didn't have cloven hooves. Carson was due for a lot of payback for this little rescue. _ McKay squinted at the dim shadows that moved far below him. _Three forms...three people…. _

Teyla's breathless thank-you was sharply interrupted by McKay's sudden and panicked shouting.

The three whirled around just in time for Ronon to latch onto McKay's shoulder and keep the Astrophysicist from hurdling his way down the opposite side of the ice and rock wall.

_Path be damned apparently_.

Sheppard often wandered about scientists in general. Even Zelenka at times acted without truly thinking of consequences. For such a brilliant group, they occasionally lacked the common sense to get out of the rain.

McKay tried to twist from Ronon's grip from his shoulder like one a spider web, without the preferred results. _Thank goodness._ Sheppard thought.

Rodney, however, undaunted continued to point down the slope.

SGA-1, through the blinding glare of sharp sunlight, stared in the direction McKay's gestured and spotted three orange outfitted forms below on the ice shelf.

The threesome struggled amongst and against one another before a large mound of snow.

Sheppard scrutinized the displaced berm of snow, uneasy with its presence.

_A windbreak?_

The mound cast a small shadow in the stark brilliance of piercing daylight.

Two tugged the middle person in opposite directions. Both appeared to have weapons drawn, while the third floundered between them, struggling against both as if hindered by more than the polar grasps that clenched him.

The far one slipped, lost their footing and crashed to the ice, dragging the middle orange suited person partially down with him. The other yanked on the middle figure freeing him from the fallen one and pushed him into the lone mound of snow.

The standing figure raised his weapon and aimed at his opposer.

The momentarily discarded figure tried to scramble up over the snow mound, to escape the two feuding men.

The sharp crack of a firing weapon, carried and nearly drowned in the droning wind. It whispered over SGA-1 moments later.

Sheppard and his team peered through the blowing snow trying to determine what was occurring far below them.

The figure on the ice dove backward and to the side as if attempting to dodge a bullet. The middle person scrambled madly up over the berm. The shooter grabbed his ankle and yanked the scrambling figure back down.

Sheppard couldn't determine through the swirling snow and glare if someone had been shot or not.

Did the bullet hit its target?

"They're out of range. I can't hit any of them," Ronon stated. He cut the rope that bound him to the others and slipped free. The Satedan baled over the ledge, following a near invisible path down the other side.

McKay tugged on the dangling climbing rope, freeing it from his harness. The astrophysicist followed Ronon.

"Shit," Sheppard shouted. He quickly worked to free himself from the safety rope. He kept his eyes on the drama that played out far below.

One person was down, one still held a weapon and seemed to be checking the person they just shot. The third once again made a bumbling attempt to scale the snow mound.

The unidentified figure with the gun swung around and almost lazily aimed in the general direction of the scrambling form that desperately attempted to re-scale the windbreak and escape.

High above, the Colonel leaped over the edge of the natural wall and began a mad descent down its rocky and icy face to the ice shelf below. He windmilled his arms as his knees absorbed countless shocks and blows. Abdominal muscles and dorsal strap muscles tightened and flexed instinctively, giving the torso the flexibility to bound and rebound in response to the quick shifting directions of the legs. Thick soled boots gained just enough purchase to allow a foot to land and spring off. The colonel pounced from one solid foothold to the next, gaining speed and maintaining just a breath of control. He passed McKay within seconds and gained on Dex. Sheppard pinballed around the big Satedan and barreled down the face of the decline.

As a single minded group, they scrambled down, over and between great chunks of ice, rock and dehydrated snow.

It took all of two minutes for the Colonel to reach level ground.

Sheppard hit the rippled frozen surface of the ice field with eye watering force that jarred teeth, but never broke his stride. He buried his chin to his chest and dug for speed sprinting in the direction they had last seen the remaining members of SGA-6.

Ronon lagged by only a few seconds. On a flat surface the ex-runner closed the distance on Sheppard.

McKay dropped back, legs and muscles unaccustomed to such abuses, but with a mind as adaptable and malleable as any from two galaxies. Rodney shot down hill keeping his rational and logical consciousness deafeningly quiet.

This wasn't the time to muddle things with thinking.

Teyla shadowed him, just a step behind, a safety net that rested above rather than below.

Fierce gusts of wind scoured the ice shelf, momentarily shielding the distant knot of the struggling three orange figures from sight.

The wind weakened.

The obscuring snow dissipated.

The heavier particulates settled slightly, while light ice crystals danced in the air and reflected light in all directions.

It was momentarily blinding. The excess brilliance was nearly as troublesome as the dearth of light.

Through the settling of the wind, Sheppard spied one figure pulling the scrambling figure once again from the snow mound and onto the ice securing him brutally with a knee to the shoulder. The standing figure then raised his weapon to fire at the fleeing third who desperately took flight across the open ice.

Ronon brought his gun up to fire.

The orange coated shooter was suddenly thrown backward, knocked off balance as the mound of snow before the stationary pair suddenly erupted upward.

Sheppard's sprint hitched as his mind ran through limited possibilities. _Explosion? Grenades? _His legs continued to flash forward slowly closing the distance of the remaining members of SGA-6, while his mind tried to process the sudden explosion of ice.

Ice chunks showered the area, forcing the SGA-6 teammates to throw arms up over their heads and curl away, ducking from the flying debris.

Ronon continued to sprint across the ice, holding his gun out, stiff armed. He aimed for the flailing shooter.

Dex passed the Colonel.

_Shit._ Sheppard dug for a little more speed. He gained ground.

Through the endless expanse of blinding white, through the curtain of settling snow, the silhouette of a large white pelted creature unfolded itself and rose to its hind legs, towering over the spilled duo in orange.

The gun toting SGA-6 member back peddled on his seat, reaching desperately for his elusive teammate he had just previously knelt on. He managed to latch onto the coat and yank him backward, away from the creature.

The move appeared almost protective. Sheppard cocked his head unsure of what he was witnessing.

The toppled figure was knocked to his side and fumbled, as if unsure which direction to flee. Uncoordinated attempts at escape were muddled by the desperate clutch of his teammate. The figure sharply dropped and twisted his shoulder, snapping out a solid elbow and breaking the hold of the person clenching him. The newly freed figure then ran full bore into the creature, bounced off, staggered for a step or two and then landed soundly on his posterior.

_Has to be Beckett. _Sheppard thought. He passed Ronon. A hidden smile lightened Sheppard's face.

_Damn._ Dex thought.

Off to Sheppard's right, the far escaping third team member of SGA-6 slowed his flight and stuttered to a stop at the sounds of cascading ice chunks. He turned and hesitantly stepped his way toward his downed teammates. And the creature.

The creature, with black tipped nose and rounded ears, pawed the air and bellowed.

The roar shot across the ice as a piercing, screeching wall of sound.

It crashed over the members of SGA-1, sending them to their knees, forcing them to clutch at their hooded heads, covering hidden ears with mitten hands.

Sheppard instinctively curled away from the high pitched sound that rattled his teeth and shook his bones. The sound washed over him like a sonic boom.

He opened his eyes to find Ronon, Teyla and Rodney all in similar stances, twisted away from the enveloping blast of noise.

The colonel turned back toward the three on the ice shelf. One still stood far off as if unsure what to do.

The figure, who had bounced off the creature, now lay curled on the ground, the beast tearing at the thick parka, shaking the huddled figure left and right.

The remaining SGA-6 member lay awkwardly on his pack, sprawled on the ice; spread eagle. The orange parka was slightly darker in some areas than it should be.

The distant third member of SGA-6 continued to hesitate, looked in Sheppard's direction and then sprinted for the expedition member caught in the jaws of the creature.

Ronon, gun out, mitten cover pulled back to expose his heavily gloved hand, dashed past Sheppard toward the creature and the rag doll like Atlantian that hung by his coat from its jaws. "That's got to be, Beckett." Ronon announced.

"No shit," Sheppard muttered. _Who else would find some snow monster to chew on him, besides McKay?_

Sheppard, Teyla and Rodney tore after Dex.

"Teyla! Rodney! Watch our flank!" Sheppard ordered, pointing toward the separated SGA-6 member.

There was a killer in amongst this group.

The colonel sprinted after Dex, neither gaining nor losing ground.

The Athosian and scientist angled away from Sheppard and headed straight toward the lone SGA-6 member that ran directly for the creature and his dangling teammate.

The report of Ronon's gun echoed unchallenged across the ice field.

The giant white beast pounded its front legs into the ice, large round flattened feet beat the snow, jostling the coated figure snared on its teeth. The parka hooked in its carnassal teeth gave way. Large chunks of white insulation herniated through as stitching ruptured and material tore. The person dangling in its grip struggled frantically. Feet and hands struck blindly at the head and muzzle of the monster.

Red bolts of energy flashed mutely through the punishing glare of the mid day sun. The first bolt skimmed along the flank of the creature, turning unblemished white fur blackish brown. Smoke spiraled up from its side.

The second bolt skipped across its rounded hunched shoulders, sparking small flames in the wiry long guard hairs.

The creature dropped its struggling prize.

The person tumbled to the ice in a heap and curled quickly into a ball. Arms snapped up and wrapped protectively around and over his head and hood.

Ronon steadily closed the distance with gun raised.

The third energy bolt hit true. It blasted fur and meat just behind the left elbow. The creature's bellow was cut immediately short, preventing another shrilling cry.

The creature was flung off its feet. Black, thickened digital pads outlined with long white hairs were exposed for only a moment.

The wind gusted brutally.

A sudden wall of white snow momentarily obscured vision and forced people to huddle close to the ice. Shards of ice pinged thick coats and dashed off goggles.

Hoods rattled deafeningly in the wind, fluttered against faces and goggles. Legs were nearly swept out from under bodies and sheer down drafts threatened to tumble people along the ice.

Bodies huddled close to the ground, digging in, gripping at wind roughened ice, trying to remain rooted.

The wind relented, easing back to a dull roar. The snow settled, relaxed back toward the ground. Patches of wind cleared the ice dotted the snowfield.

Ronon kept his gun unholstered, searching the area for the missing creature. No telltale outlines were noticeable in the backdrop of white.

It was gone.

Its victim lay a few yards down the ice, having been caught in the stream of whipping wind and rolled along as if nothing more than a tumbleweed.

The one that lay sprawled spread eagle, the shooter, now lay with a leg and arm tossed over their counterpart, victims to the ferocity of the gale. The backpack and weapons had kept the body weighted.

Sheppard jogged passed Ronon and stopped next to the first unmoving form.

The head was mauled and indistinguishable. No facial features were left intact.

Where dog tags had once sat unobtrusively around the neck was now torn. Flesh, synthetic material and dog tags were missing.

The surrounding snow was covered with spongy flecks of frozen blood.

The colonel left the body and jogged toward the torn and tufted orange parka a hundred yards away.

Clumsy, uncoordinated movements heralded life.

"Ronon, keep an eye out," Sheppard ordered as he ran. The reprieve from the wind gusts would not last. He didn't want to be chasing down an expedition member like a tumbling piece of windblown mail.

"Teyla? Rodney?" The colonel asked without taking his eyes from the form that struggled to all fours only to tip over to their right. "Who do you have?"

"What?" McKay's disembodied voice sounded over head sets.

Sheppard sighed but the sense of urgency was not diluted. "Who is with you?"

There was a brief pause. Voices whispered low over head phones, obscured by the sound of wind whipped clothing.

"We have Corporal Jones," Teyla sounded with cool definitive efficiency.

Sheppard dropped his chin for just a split second. Corporal Jones was fresh off the Daegulus with a new batch of soldiers. The colonel had not had nor made the time to learn the faces and names of the new replacements. He left the orientation and duty assignments to Major Lorne.

"Sir, Dr. Beckett can't see. Snow blind." Jones's voice sounded shaken even in his attempts to sound secure. "Private McGilly tried to kill us…he killed the others. He just snapped…something about Wraith. Mistreating the Wraith. He said Dr. Beckett needed put down. Dr. McKay too, his knowledge a threat to all Wraith."

"All right, all right. We'll straighten it out later," Sheppard muttered. Private McGilly was another new face. Sheppard peered over his shoulder at the body on the ice. _Or maybe not._

The Colonel slowed to a jog as he narrowed the distance to Beckett.

"Doc? You alright?" He approached Beckett, who still struggled to stand. The CMO made it to a wide base three point squat, but lost his balance when his mitten hands left the ice. He stutter stepped to the side, flared his arms and fell back into the shallow snow with a snow suited puff.

"Doc?" Sheppard cautiously stepped forward with hands out, trying to offer guidance. He noticed the CMO's eyes were swollen and held tightly closed. Icicles and snow hung from his eyebrows and eyelashes. Small delicate streams of crystallized moisture tracked from the corners of his eyes, highlighting premature crow's feet. His oxygen mask was somewhat in place. His face remained mostly covered and protected from the wind and snapping cold.

Beckett rolled back to his hands and knees and once again struggled to his feet. He would have fallen backward if Sheppard hadn't grabbed his forearm.

The CMO lurched away from the sudden hold as if electrocuted.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Sheppard repeated quickly, "Doc, it's me. Relax. You're alright."

Carson threw himself backward, dragging the Colonel with him. The grip, though tested, remained unbroken and Beckett precariously kept his feet.

The physician, however was not one to give up and lashed out. He yanked his arm free, twisting to the side, but managed to trip over his own two feet. He fell solidly into the ice, slapping the side of his head off the unforgiving ground.

He lay completely still, stunned.

"Shit," Sheppard muttered. He looked to the dimming blue sky, wondering why nothing could go easy. With a sigh, he turned his attention back to the sluggishly moving physician.

"Doc, cut it out. It's me, Sheppard." He reached out again to the CMO and latched onto the chest straps of the doctor's backpack.

Beckett yelped hoarsely, pulling himself backward and lashed out with his feet. A boot connected solidly with the side of the Colonel's lower leg.

"Son of a Bitch!" Sheppard let go, hopping on one leg. "Damn it, Carson, knock it off."

Carson wiggled in the snow trying to create distance.

"He can't hear you," Ronon suddenly imparted from beside Sheppard. The ex-runner didn't appear breathless or show any signs of exertion. There were times when the colonel felt pangs of envy.

"What?"

"He," Dex pointed at Beckett, who continued to crab crawl diagonally backward, "can't hear you."

"What? Why not?"

"Snow Yeti," Ronon answered as if that explained everything. Both stepped in time with Beckett maintaining their distance but not allowing the scrambling CMO to get further away.

"And that would mean?"

"Snow monster," Ronon clarified.

"I know what _that_ means," Sheppard answered slightly indignantly. "What does it have to do with him," the colonel pointed a mittened finger at Beckett, "not hearing us?"

"He was in front of it when it roared," Dex stated.

"Sooo…?" Sheppard drew out.

"Temporarily deafens people." Ronon hitched a hip, standing hipshot with his arm bent and gun resting against the point of his shoulder. "Legend has it the Snow Yeti's roar deafens those directly in front of it, leaves them dizzy, so they can't escape if it decides to leave them for a later snack."

Sheppard and Ronon watched as Beckett rolled onto his stomach and tried to gain his feet. The doctor fell unceremoniously to his side.

Sheppard cocked his head to the side and scrutinized Beckett. "He's not doing a very good job of escaping."

"Nope." Ronon lowered his gun and switched the settings. "You want me to stun him?"

"What?" Sheppard looked incredulously back at the Satedan. "No. No, I don't want you stunning him. You know how pissed he'll be if we did that? He'd kill us."

"You," Ronon clarified, holstering his weapon. "I'd just be following your orders."

Sheppard squinted a glare at the Satedan to no effect.

A sharp wind pushed them from behind and whistled over the ice. Snow lifted into the air and swirled about, momentarily blinding them. Outer gear was smudged against their bodies and hoods fluttered. The piercing cold slithered its way in through cold weather gear and sliced skin.

Beckett curled away from the wind, ducking his face behind a shoulder. Tufts of insulation flapped from his torn coat.

The cold stole Sheppard's breath. Ronon appeared unfazed.

In a moment, the wind died down. For the first time since stepping through the gate, the crystal blue sky slowly faded away to grey with the building of cloud cover.

"Storm's coming," Ronon pointed out.

"Figures," Sheppard muttered. He stared up at the darkening sky and then over toward the quietly fumbling doctor who was making no gains in escaping.

Sheppard tapped his radio, "McKay, find us a place to hole up. There is a storm coming."

"How am I supposed to do that?" McKay's indignant and worried voice sounded over earpieces.

"You'll think of something," Ronon assured. "Or we'll all die out here."

"Unfair. This is so unfair," they heard him mutter.

Sheppard shrugged in silent agreement to Rodney's protest.

"Come on let's go get him," He said tiredly, jutting his chin in the direction of the physician. Beckett now lay on his back unmoving on the ice, chest heaving for breath.

Sheppard and Ronon closed in on Carson.

"He can't see or hear us. Won't know we're us," Ronon pointed out matter-of-factly. "We stun him, it'd be easier."

Sheppard stopped and stared pointedly at Dex. "No. I do not want you stunning him." The colonel broke eye contact. "Besides, the Doc's a reasonable guy, he'll figure it out."

"Uh-huh." Ronon uttered with a distinctive lack of conviction.

The two converged on the hapless doctor.


	3. Primitive as can be

Storms moving in...and RL really is FUBAR at the moment. Trying to get to those scenes where McKay gets bashed around...work with me...oh and Sheppard and Teyla.

Thanks tons for the reviews...and yes primitive is spelled in an alternative manner in the chapter title...Did I mention the encroaching storm?

**Part 3**

The small single file group struggled and wove itself through building winds and whipping snow. Ice pelted them. Wind howled across the short, exposed snowfield, battering and pummeling them as they fought their way back to the jutting natural formation of ice, rising glaciers and rocks.

Fierce wind sheers periodically drove them to their knees.

Fantastic headwinds intermittently bullied them to a stop.

They trudged in a weaving line, bent against the building storm. The travelers fought and staggered, twisted away from the brutal wind.

Sheppard lead them, his head angled slightly to the side to accommodate his swollen closed, and blackened eye. His goggles sat uneasily on his bruised face. A deepening bruise leached an array of maroons and deep blues from his zygomatic arch to the juncture of the ramus and the body of the mandible. The spectacular color was only slightly diminished by balloon like swelling of his split and ecchymosed lips.

He looked like a pugilist too well skilled at blocking a punch with his head instead of bobbing and weaving.

McKay struggled against the scouring wind, tethered close to Sheppard's back, hollering directions over the earpieces. Though he shouted to the best of ability, his voice remained barely louder than a whisper, muted by the fury of the storm.

Dead reckoning was a lost art. McKay just hoped the 'dead' didn't take on a literal meaning.

The group finally reached the questionable protection of the monoliths. They wound their way through the natural exposed maze of granite and glaciers.

An arbitrary turn to the left offered a reprieve from the wind, while a turn to their, slammed them to a halt with breathtaking force.

The wind was terrifying.

Ronon kept a tight hold of Beckett's backpack, directing the stumbling doctor left and right as directions changed. A jagged, raw edge of an open wound ran along the Satedan's hair line. It ran deep and the zig-zag swollen, torn edges easily caught and pulled in the material of his hat. It was irritating. It was almost as bothersome as the developing laceration and growing knot that decorated his shin, just below his knee. Each step brought a burning reminder of just how close Beckett came to dislocating his patella.

The ex-runner occasionally glared at the periodically visible, snow enshrouded figure of Sheppard.

_Next time he was stunning Beckett. _

Behind Ronon, Jones staggered with Teyla bringing up the rear.

Dex didn't like the marine at his back, but trusted Teyla.

Wind howled down narrowed natural halls. It curved around rock barriers, banked off of granite walls and slammed ice particles into trespassers and curled snow up against their legs, gnarling foot placement.

The group struggled on.

Eventually, they found a cave nestled deep within the granite just before the brunt of the storm hit.

They rushed, pushing and pulling one another, single file into a twisting, snaking, narrow corridor, escaping the wind and plummeting temperatures.

They threaded their way down the narrow convoluted corridor, leaving the whistling of deadly winds behind them. Snow and ice whipped past the entrance, creating a deadly curtain of grayish-white.

Temperatures plunged as the sky darkened. The wind turned feral.

Sheppard stalked forward, P-90 ready in fear that their little oasis from the storm might already be occupied. McKay a half breadth behind, tethered to the Colonel, followed hunched over, mittened hand resting on the butt of his pistol. Behind him, Beckett fumbled and stuttered with Ronon looming unseen and unheard on his heels, pulling the doctor left and right in accordance with the path and keeping him on his feet. The Satedan had his own gun drawn and ready.

Corporal Jones trailed Ronon, with no weapon. Teyla closed their ranks, P-90 held at guard.

The group wove through the narrow tunnel. Boots crunched fine, undisturbed sand.

The wind screamed outside the unseen mouth of the cave.

The narrow, twisting, sand cushioned natural corridor burrowed deep into the rock and eventually opened into a small cavern deep within the granite monolith.

The wind lost its bite and drive well before reaching the protected small alcove.

P-90 light illuminated the small protected cave. Its roof curved just high enough to accommodate Ronon's large form.

Nothing appeared to inhabit it.

Sheppard turned, flipping his mitten covers off his gloved fingers. Unhindered by the mittens, he simply freed himself of the rope that tethered Rodney to him.

"McKay, Jones, start setting things up. Ronon, check this place out," Sheppard gestured to the general area. The cavern looked small but there was no reason to think there wasn't more than one exit or entrance. "Then get a fire started."

Dex merely nodded, unholstered his gun, twirling it on his finger, making sure the corporal saw it. He holstered it in a seamless motion and stared pointedly at the younger man.

Jones swallowed, shuffled back a step and merely nodded.

Ronon scowled one more time just to be sure he was understood. The ex-runner then followed the line of the cave walls.

Sheppard pushed his hood back from his head, revealing a thick heavy hat that hung low over his ears and forehead, molding around his glasses which met his oxygen mask. He deftly unclipped one edge, allowing the neoprene mask to dangle free, one sided. The vibrant maroons and blue of fresh deep bruising arced and swelled down over his cheek.

The mask made an impression. Bruised colors leached around it.

"Teyla."

The Athosian glanced up from freeing herself from her tether and stared around Jones to the Colonel. Her features, though shadowed by the darkness of the cave, held the nip of cold air.

"I'm going to need help with Carson." Sheppard's request masked an order that languished in unnecessary.

Teyla simply nodded and easily slid her pack from her shoulders. She let it fall to the unusually fine sand and stepped toward the CMO.

Carson stood shivering, weaving in small circles, where Ronon had stopped him. Beckett kept his head down, his face hidden by the deep hood of his torn parka. His pack hung low and heavy on his shoulders. It had offered some protection, where his torn jacket had failed.

"Dr. Beckett, Carson," Teyla spoke softly, reaching for the doctor. As expected, he remained rooted, having not heard what she said or seen her motions. He simply tensed at her touch.

McKay quickly pulled and unfurled his sleeping bag from his pack, complete with its silver thermal blanket, and stretched it out on the ground. "Here, sit him on this."

Rodney stepped back, making room and worked his way over to the next discarded pack. He worked quickly, pulling sleeping bags and silver insulated blankets from the packs. As he situated them on the ground, he watched as Sheppard and Teyla maneuvered Beckett to sitting down.

The doctor moved stiffly, stilted, not only from the cold but as if unsure of where the ground was, how far to trust those around him, and if and when should he relax his guard or attempt to escape.

Rodney quickly diverted his eyes, uneasy and uncomfortable with the hesitant movements of Carson. This wasn't his environment. He didn't do touchy feely. He didn't do comfort or encouragement. He worked with technology, Ancient interfaces, even Wraith fleshy computer bits---if he had too. But not this. He watched the Colonel and Teyla with Carson. He didn't envy them but he did appreciate them.

McKay didn't do injuries and he admittedly fumbled and bumbled comfort and he certainly didn't embrace the primitive world.

_This was Hell…that was it. Dante described Hell as an existence steeped in a frozen land of ice and wind. This was it. This was indeed Hell. _

McKay sighed with resignation. _Figures. _

Rodney turned his attention to the back of the cave.

Ronon suddenly disappeared behind a stone wall. McKay paused, stood up and waited. "Colonel?" Rodney stated softly.

_Perhaps there was technology here after all. All was not lost. _

Sheppard kept his focus on Beckett, but nodded at what McKay was hinting at. "He'll let us know."

"Sheppard," Ronon's voice rumbled over head SGA-1's head sets. "Tunnel's back here. Its small, narrower than the entrance, and goes back a ways. No tracks. No wind."

Sheppard processed the information and simply nodded. "Leave it for now."

McKay listened and then watched as the runner seemingly stepped out from a rock wall.

Ronon stared at Rodney, "No tech."

McKay deflated slightly, rounding his shoulders a little more and dropping back down to a squat. It was his chore to make their group's next installment of Adventures of Swiss Family Robinson---without the blonde---a little more comfortable. He had been reduced from Head Scientist of a Top Secret Expedition to Mrs. Donner, Clarice's mom.

The ex-runner holstered his gun and strode across the cave, staring at the marine.

Jones seemed to shrink within himself and quietly removed small cooking ware from his own pack. He worked efficiently on starting a calorie packed meal for the group.

Their survival packs were well suited for cold weather. Fuel for fire, food, protective clothing and medical supplies would not be an issue for a matter of days.

McKay switched his attention from Ronon and Lones to the Colonel and Teyla.

The two quickly freed Beckett from his pack, torn coat and oxygen. They pulled the thermal blanket up around his trembling shoulders. The temporary white bandage that Sheppard had hastily wrapped around his eyes out on the ice shelf was wrinkled and crooked.

Sharp deep bruises ringed his proximal ventral neck and extended up behind his ears. "Carson?" McKay inquired.

"Seen it already, McKay. Don't know what happened," Sheppard intoned. "Corporal?" the colonel asked pointedly. He gently dabbed Carson's eyes with medicated gauze.

"Sir?"

"What happened to his neck?" Sheppard finished cleaning one eye and started working on the other. Beckett occasionally tried to raise blanket covered hands, only to have Teyla delicately deflect them.

"I don't know, sir," Jones answered, keeping an eye on the ex-runner who almost seemed to snarl at him. "Dr. Beckett never said anything."

"Well, of course, he didn't," Rodney snapped. "Look at him. He can't find his forehead with his fingertips right now."

"McKay," Sheppard tempered. "Let's just deal with one thing at a time."

The CMO for his part sat still, occasionally shivering and frequently reaching up to help or deter the hands that tugged at him. Teyla softly explained their actions to no avail and redirected his hands.

"His clothing is damp." The Athosian stated. She rested a hand between Beckett's shoulder blades, lower back and chest. Sweat leeched through material manufactured to specifically wick it away.

"Rodney," Sheppard's simple saying of the name conveyed his order.

Jones marveled at the simplicity in which SGA-1 communicated with one another without truly saying anything.

"I'm on it," McKay huffed. He rifled through Beckett's pack and pulled free extra clothing and tossed them over to the trio.

Rodney turned his attention back to unpacking more gear. He pulled small oxygen bottles free and checked their pressures. They had plenty. The coiled climbing ropes were laid out and the astrophysicist examined them as he had been taught back at McMurdo post. White out conditions and unexpected weather abnormalities were the norm there.

The quiet whispers that enveloped the camp were suddenly shattered.

A piercing roar rent the night, bouncing along the walls of the natural corridor and engulfing the small enclave.

Ronon snapped his gun clear and pivoted toward the entrance of the cave.

"Wait," Sheppard whispered, cautiously placing down the small plastic bottle of eyewash and raised his P-90.

The group sat and listened intently, trying to discern and tease different sounds from the howling storm.

Beckett rubbed vigorously at his eyes, oblivious to the sudden tension, but capitalizing on the unexpected freedom. The silver blanket slipped from his shoulders. Cold air prickled through his thermals.

Rodney watched the entrance of the cave, seeing shadows in the black archway. He hastily traded an oxygen bottle for his .9mm. The barrel wavered only minutely as he aimed it at the entrance.

The group waited. The fire crackled. Small flames flickered and danced about in gentle air currents, sensitive to peoples' movements and breaths.

The small group continued to wait. Crystallized breaths plumed into the brittle air.

Teyla unobtrusively placed herself between Carson and the entrance.

Beckett groaned as he applied more pressure to the heel of his hands and buried them deeply into his eyes. The roughened gauze scratched deliciously against his burning skin. A vicious cycle spiraled. He toppled to his side, but continued to work at his eyes.

Ronon kept steady aim on the entrance, the marine in his periphery.

Jones feared reaching for a weapon.

Sheppard kept his P-90 level and ready.

Shadows danced on the cave walls. Features flickered within undulating greys. The unseen wind continued to moan. Occasional fingers of frigid air wisped down the winding tunnel and bent flames and scoured exposed skin.

Time ticked past.

Eventually, Sheppard lowered his weapon, followed by Rodney and Teyla. Ronon slowly holstered his gun.

The colonel's attention was dragged toward the physician behind him, who moaned with mixed pleasure and pain, rubbing vigorously at his eyes. He wiggled himself back away from the others and nestled himself into a seated position using the rock wall.

"Carson, knock it off," Sheppard growled, slightly alarmed at the fervor in which Beckett ground at his eyes.

He and Teyla wrestled the doctor's hands down. The Colonel remained someone protective of his own battle bruised face.

McKay ignored the threesome. He settled back into a sleeping bag, feeling his heart race in his chest. It took two attempts before finally holstering his pistol. He needed a diversion, something to occupy his mind.

_Why didn't technology work here? So unfair._

Rodney stared at the pile of oxygen bottles, mentally counting how many they had left, how many they would need to reach the gate. Two long coils of multicolored climbing rope lay in figure 8 patterns on an extra blanket up out of the sand. The lines appeared intact. He calculated the number of yards, the number of people, how many different types of tethers they might need and figured with a growl of disgust, that they had enough line that they could have lined the whole planet of misfit toys.

He chanced a looked over at the struggling trio.

Sheppard rifled through Beckett's medical pack, one handed, pulling supplies and setting them in order that he'd need them. With his other hand he tried keeping Beckett's hand down and away from his covered eyes.

The gauze was askew and appeared wet.

McKay flinched when Teyla unwound and peeled the gauze back, diligently moving in time with the physician. He caught sight of Carson's reddened, swollen eyes. They seemed accountably painful and tears leaked from the corners. With Teyla no longer gently restraining him, Beckett persistently rubbed the sides of his eyes on his shoulders, chafing them to the point of bleeding, irritating them further and adding to the potential damage.

McKay was slightly unnerved as the colonel tried repeatedly to keep Carson from smashing his eyes into his shoulder and abrade them on the material. If Beckett kept this up they would have to convince him to lie back, which seemed unlikely at the moment.

"Teyla, hold his head still," Sheppard stated softly as he picked clean gauze from an open pack. The Athosian simply nodded and tried to comply.

McKay watched, curious as to what would drive someone to act in a manner they knew was counterproductive. Carson had to know what was wrong with his eyes; he had to understand that rubbing them was making matters worse and yet the Scot continued to defy Teyla's hesitantly restraining hands.

Sheppard dabbed the cool medicated gauze on heated puffy eyelids.

Beckett flinched away from Teyla's gentle grasp, smashing his head into a rocky overhang. He curled away, gripping his head and sucking in a pained breath and surreptitiously rubbed the palms of his heels into his eyes.

He didn't hear Sheppard's aggravated curse or Teyla's repeated apologies. After a moment, they both tried again. This time Beckett grasped the colonel's wrist in a punishing and warning grip.

Ronon stopped with the fire and watched the trio. McKay wondered if Conan would actually stun Carson this time. It seemed feasible, and after watching the fight Carson put up out on the ice, advisable.

Jones stopped with his meal preparation. Ronon shot him a glare. The marine continued working.

It had been a tense moment of waiting to see how far Beckett would fight Teyla and Sheppard, and how far they would have to go to subdue him. With no opposition from the hand he gripped, Carson slowly loosened his grasp. He never let go, but allowed the colonel to peel apart his lids and examine his eyes as Teyla tilted his head back.

A couple of drops of eye medication had Beckett blinking frantically and liquid admixed with tears streaming down the side of his face. Carson's nose ran too. There had to be some medical wishy, washy explanation for that as well. Perhaps some sort of duct or something, connected eye to nostril. Rodney really didn't care. He just wished someone with a tissue, rather than Carson with his long sleeve shirt acted to wipe his nose.

No such luck. At least it wasn't a tip of his tongue.

Unarticulated rasps of discomfort whispered forth.

McKay turned away and spread parkas out before the fire to dry. When he had all the jackets arranged and mittens lay to air, he settled back on an extra sleeping bag and freed his tablet from his pack.

He blew on his gloved hands trying to warm them. They might have been out of the storm but the frigid temperature still blanched exposed skin.

He tried to ignore Sheppard placing thick padded gauze over each of Carson's medicated eyes before wrapping rolled gauze around the doctor's head. Beckett had sat tense and silent through the procedure. He weaved slightly as dizziness persisted.

They quickly peeled his damp shirts free and replaced them. Beckett quietly prevented Teyla from helping him with his pants and long johns. It earned a few chuckles from the others and a tolerant but understanding smile from the Athosian.

After a bit, with a little help from Sheppard, Carson was in dry clothing. Teyla quietly made her way back and sat beside the physician. She easily interpreted his ill ease with the day's events.

It seemed strange to see Carson sitting mutely within a swath of startling white bandages. Teyla placed his hat back on his head and then lifted the hood of his dry sweatshirt adding extra protection from the cold. She settled herself beside the doctor on the sleeping bag, and with Sheppard's help, drew the silver thermal blanket across both their shoulders.

Sheppard left the two be and drifted off to his own sleeping bag and pack. He nodded a curt thanks to McKay and settled down.

Sheppard found the situation infuriating. The fear and uncertainty that emanated from the CMO was almost palpable. Of course, having someone try to kill you while blind and now deaf would leave one feeling vulnerable. Being eaten or almost devoured by a snow monster didn't help much either.

Everyone had their bad days.

There had been no way to communicate with him that he was safe, well safer, or who surrounded him and what was occurring. Beckett's world has been reduced to smells and touch. The snow blindness would resolve within twenty-four to forty-eight hours. The deafness, no-one knew for sure.

When pressed for an answer, Ronon grunted and shrugged. No one had ever escaped the Snow Yeti.

That had begged the question of how such knowledge became available then…Sheppard nipped McKay off before that line of reasoning could be broached. The cave wasn't that large and tempers were short.

McKay met Sheppard's eye and said nothing, verbally. The astrophysicist turned his attention back to his sluggishly working tablet. The cold sapped the battery of its charge.

Rodney sighed heavily, frustrated at the predicament in which they'd found themselves. Worse was not having a working computer tablet at his fingertips. Just because they were in a primitive situation did not mean he had to go without a computer.

There was Primitive and then there was Robinson Crusoe primitive. In Rodney's world they had just dipped into Tarzan and Cheetah primitive and it was unbearably painful.

McKay scrutinized Beckett, who sat very still as if trying to melt into the background, and then back to his computer. With a put upon sigh, Rodney climbed wearily to his feet.

He strode his way across the small cave and stopped before Carson. Safely keeping his distance, he simply tapped Beckett firmly on the hood. The Scot, as Rodney suspected, jolted upright. McKay waited with an air of impatience for the Doctor to calm.

After what seemed an appropriate time, McKay squatted down and simply placed the tablet in Beckett's hand. He allowed Carson to tentatively touch his face, which nearly cost him an eye and an invasive nostril pick. Clumsy fingers finally pushed his hat back and accosted his receding hair line.

Rodney's impatience grew when he recognized the dimpled smirk on Beckett's face. He ended the touchy session with a gruff, "Alright, enough of that." He swatted Beckett's hand away, took his tablet back, fixed his hat and pushed himself to his feet. McKay ambled back to his little section of cave, but not before squeezing Beckett's shoulder in brief reassurance.


	4. The Corn Yeti

I have never seen the Corn Yeti, but have heard it at night, have never heard a tornado but have seen them (Iowa is a strange and mystical place) Iowa is also the home of the World's largest fake strawberry. **  
**

**Part 4**

A modest fire crackled at the center of the cave. Shadows danced and folded around the craggy inner walls. Gear remained scattered in a semi circle, leaving the narrow entrance of the cave open and free of debris. Sleeping bags doubled as sitting mats, insulating bodies from the leaching cold of the ground.

Outer gear remained stripped off and opened to air. Boots remained in place and hats on heads. Mittens were shed, revealing thin insulating gloves that still protected fingers. Oxygen masks had been removed, 02 tanks were shut off and equipment stowed.

The smell of gun oil mingled with wisps of smoke. The crackle of fire filled the small area.

Ronon checked his gun again, taking surreptitiously glances at Corporal Jones. The young marine kept his distance and watched the others with downcast eyes.

The laceration that marred the corner of the Satedan's forehead where Beckett had clipped him with a boot earlier out on the ice had been cleaned. Ronon occasionally scrutinized the doctor and then glared pointedly at Sheppard.

Dex chuckled every time he spied Sheppard's swollen and bruised face. _The Atlanteans should listen to him more. _

The doc was a scrapper. The specialist took some relief in knowing that he faired better than Sheppard when it came to wrestling and subduing Carson. Next time, however, he was stunning the Doc no matter what Sheppard said.

Dex placed his gun down within easy reach, picked up a medium sized needle and thread, and turned his attention to mending Beckett's torn parka.

The Corporal remained quiet, and kept his hands visible and movements slow. He shied from touching any form of weapon. It had proven unwise. He made no more inquiries or halfhearted jokes about Specialist Dex's versatility with needle and thread.

It was actually unsurprising that the Satedan knew how to mend clothes. Seven years on the run and being a military specialist made it a necessity for survival to know how to sew and suture.

The corporal watched Dr. McKay. The young man had made the mistake of trying to start a conversation with the civilian. He knew it was a bad idea, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Apparently the old adage about desperate people making stupid mistakes heralded true, even on ice planets in a cave with a storm blowing.

Dr. McKay was as tactless as it was rumored. He would have made a good drill instructor.

Corporal Jones surreptitiously watched the scientist.

McKay snapped his tablet closed, disgusted with the cold that sapped the battery of its power and made the tablet sluggish and unresponsive. He fiddled with the Ancient's life sign's detector, occasionally aiming it at individuals. Frequently he grunted in disgust and occasionally shook the instrument in frustration.

A combination of soup and stew boiled in a small collapsible pot over the fire. Hot water mixed liberally with hot chocolate percolated near the fire resting on a flat stone. The sugar was a quick and easy source of calories in the bitter cold. Salts and proteins were needed replacements as much as liquid. Water consumed alone over a period of time could prove detrimental if not fatal.

The dry, thin air efficiently dehydrated those caught in it too long unprotected. The snow that drifted and whirled about held little moisture, forcing the group to utilize their portable water.

Sheppard oiled his P-90 and checked the firing mechanisms of both his and McKay's weapons. The smell of gun oil grew. The colonel kept his unswollen, unblackened eye on Beckett and McKay.

Rodney was doing okay. The scientist was adaptable.

Sheppard cautiously rubbed at his injured eye and cheekbone. Carson had a vicious head butt. Thank God it had been a glancing blow. Next time he'd let Ronon stun him. It'd save them all some bruises. At least they had somewhat convinced Carson who was with him. It took feeling Ronon's hair and Teyla's hands and face before he relaxed enough to let them near him without shying away and striking out. Of course, Sheppard didn't think Carson was reaching for Teyla's hand when she intercepted his and folded it within her grasp and held it to her face.

Not that it mattered. In the end, they got him calmed down enough to elicit cooperation. After a bit, they built a level of trust high enough to allow them to offer aid.

Carson's continued silence had been unnerving, not unexpected. Sheppard had wanted to pull Beckett aside and learn what had happened. Jones appeared to be a good kid, stand up all American apple pie eating next door neighbor that did the paper route, but he was also the only one telling a sordid tale of a Wraith Worshipper that had been in their midst. He wove a horror story of deceit, murder and unveiled an assassination attempt on Beckett that also stretched to envelop McKay.

People desiring to kill McKay wasn't a stretch of the imagination. In fact, they ran into that type of sentiment time and time again, frequently on Atlantis, occasionally on his own team. However, it was unusual to have people actually carry through with the urge. Sure the Genii and…well the Genii and not too many more after that wanted McKay… technically the Genii didn't want McKay dead, just control of him.

Good luck with that. The Genii should be careful what they wish for.

A Wraith Worshipper within their midst seemed farfetched and surreal. However, SGA-6 was dead except for one young corporal. Beckett was blind and deaf and unable to articulate anything more than harsh rasping sounds. The deep bruising around his neck left little to the imagination. The question remained, had the attempted strangulation been at the purposeful hands of an assassin or inadvertent dangling from the jaws of the creature?

Sheppard liked Jones. It seemed unlikely that the kid was actually a Wraith Worshipper. Of course, one didn't survive this long in warring galaxies making sweeping judgments based on appearances.

The colonel was pulled from his musings by the Corporal himself.

"The Corn Yeti doesn't make people go deaf," Jones suddenly stated. The non-sequitor had the others pausing.

Sheppard placed his P-90 to the side, wrapping it in a cloth to protect it somewhat from the bitter cold that still electrified the air.

"Corn Yeti? Oh please," McKay dismissed. _Bad enough they had the Abominable Snowman lumbering around out there. Now all they needed was Yukon Cornelius to save their asses and an elf with a dental fetish. _Rodney glanced over to Beckett, who itched at his head through his hood. _Hermey the dental elf probably wouldn't be a good idea._

The fire had heated their small, protected cave enough to prevent the crystallization of breath. Rodney thought about removing his hat. It was beginning to itch his head too.

"What is this Corn Yeti?" Teyla asked staring from Jones to Sheppard.

The Colonel merely raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

"Never heard of it," Ronon mumbled. He effortlessly snapped his sewing thread and expertly knotted it one handed. He quickly and efficiently re-threaded his needle. He swung Beckett's torn coat around and began patching another rent.

Sheppard marveled at the small, closely woven stitch pattern. Dex would make a good seamstress or tailor.

"You and two galaxies," McKay muttered. He shifted his pack closer to the small fire, hoping to warm the tablet enough to make it somewhat responsive to his commands.

"This Corn Yeti, it lives on your world?" Teyla asked again encompassing the three Atlanteans in her question.

Beckett slouched minutely to the side, leaning just a breadth into the Athosian. Teyla accepted the weight without moving.

"Lives in corn fields, grabs unsuspecting trespassers." Jones fiddled with his pant cuff.

"What's it do with them?" Ronon asked. He looked up from his patch work and stared at the young marine.

"Eats them I guess," Jones answered, shrugging slightly and straightening out his leg. He was relieved to be talking instead of listening to the wind howl and fire crackle.

"You ever heard of it before, Sheppard?" Dex asked.

Sheppard shook his head. He focused his attention on the marine. "Where you from, Corporal?"

"Iowa, sir," Jones answered quietly.

McKay stopped rifling through his pack and stared over at Jones, scrutinizing the soldier, and sucked in a hissing breath, shaking his head in despondency.

The colonel grimaced and nodded in commiseration, "My condolences." Sheppard knew the Corporal was a tough kid.

"This Iowa, it is a bad place?" Teyla asked. She shifted slightly on the sleeping bag, bringing the silver thermal blanket up higher over her and Dr. Beckett's shoulders. His shivering had subsided.

"Its home, ma'am," Jones intoned. "People not from there don't understand its appeal." He glared slightly at McKay and his CO.

"Yeah, it has so much appeal you left and traveled two galaxies away from it." McKay fiddled with smoothing his sleeping bag, trying to level out his small staked claim of ground.

"Understandable," Sheppard pointed out in defense of the Corporal.

"This Corn Yeti," Ronon's deep voice rumbled around the cave. He watched from the corner of his eye as Beckett curled inward and more into Teyla, his head dipped closer to his chest, despite the intermittent slight jerking motions to lift his chin. He would be asleep soon. "It likes winter?"

"Um, well no," Jones answered earnestly. "They say it travels to Tahiti in the wintertime. No corn in the fields during the cold months."

"Smart," Sheppard intoned.

"If it were smart, it'd never go back," McKay pointed out.

"It likes sweet corn," Jones defended and then added softly, "and unsuspecting tourists."

"Tourists?" Sheppard asked, slightly perplexed and a little more disbelieving. "There's a tourist trade in Iowa?" From the corner of his eye, he watched as Beckett practically folded sideways into Teyla's lap.

"Well, sir, mostly they get lost on their way to someplace else and end up in Iowa," Jones explained, slightly downtrodden.

"I'm sure it's a nice state, Corporal," Sheppard soothed. It was the kid's home after all.

"At night, in the rear view mirror," McKay added, "with a full tank of gas."

The Colonel hit him with a pointed stare.

"Tell me I'm wrong?" McKay shot back.

Jones appeared almost hopeful that someone would speak up.

No one spoke.

The silence extended, broken only by the corporal's despondent sigh.

Teyla chuckled softly at Rodney's grunt. She nimbly scooted out from beside Beckett, who folded even more in on himself. She gently eased him down on his side, cushioning his head with her discarded coat.

Though the cave was significantly warmer than outside and protected from the wind, the bitter cold still gripped the air. The Athosian found herself bundled in extra off world gear.

Carson desperately reached out with a blind hand. Guessing the intent, Teyla grabbed and held his hand for a moment while adjusting the thermal blanket over him. She folded the upper half of the sleeping bag over that. "You are safe now, Carson," she whispered, knowing he couldn't hear. The Athosian settled back down just at his head.

Sheppard shared a look with Teyla. Neither one was confident in her placating statement.

"What are we going to do?" McKay asked, staring pointedly at Beckett and then across to Sheppard.

"If the storm lets up, we head back to the gate tomorrow," Sheppard stated. "If not, we have enough supplies to wait it out a few days."

Beckett softly rasped something unintelligible, rubbing the side of his face against Teyla's coat in an attempt to itch his eyes. She halted his movements with a simple double tap to his head in gentle admonishment. He rasped again, nothing more than harsh, unarticulated breaths.

"What is wrong with his voice?" McKay asked no one in particular.

"I don't know." Sheppard answered quietly, watching Beckett huddle into the sleeping bag. He gave one last scrub at the side of his head with his left hand. The loose sweatshirt sleeve slid back a ways exposing part of his forearm. Teyla easily deflected his attempt at rubbing his eyes, her chuckle fading when she spotted the deep bruising.

"Someone tried to strangle him," Ronon declared.

The group turned to Jones. The young marine sat up wide eyed. "No, sir, no one tried to strangle Dr. Beckett. McGilly never got a chance to get that close to him…I mean not that close until the Abominable Snowman showed up." Jones paused. "Colonel, I'm serious, no one, and I mean no one, tried to strangle or will get away with trying to strangle, Dr. Beckett, not as long as I'm around." The marine spoke with fierce protective bravado.

Sheppard recognized it and understood it. "No one is accusing you, Corporal."

"I was," Ronon stated matter of fact.

"Yeah, well don't," Sheppard returned.

"Why?"

"Ronon," Teyla warned. This type of reasoning and posturing would get them nowhere. Rodney was looking tense and wide eyed, trying to read more into the situation than was being presented. Sheppard and Ronon needed to be united front and she did not want to shoulder the burden of playing peacemaker where peace should be innate.

Beckett shifted under the sleeping bag, moving an arm, freeing up pressure on his down shoulder. A bare forearm stretched briefly from out of under the covers only to retract back into hiding.

Sheppard cocked his head to the side, having noticed the superficial wounds running along the lateral side of Carson's left forearm. Defensive wounds, or maybe just from falling onto the ice or fighting off the Corn Yeti's winter cousin.

Ronon gazed up from his sewing and stared at the Corporal. Jones shrunk away from the glare.

Sheppard watched it all, unsure what to think.

Was there a killer still within their midst?

The distant roar of the snow yeti pierced the night, sending hearts hammering and gloved hands reaching for weapons.

-----------------------------------------------------

"Sheppard." Ronon's deep voice had the colonel snapping awake, sitting up and pushing free of his sleeping bag all in one seamless motion. The cold shocked him awake as the cocoon-like warmth of his sleeping bag quickly dissipated.

Bitter cold air coiled around him, needling his skin. The darkness of the cave interior was broken only by the weaving and bending of the small fire that was kept stubbornly alive by the constant vigilance of those on watch.

Curled figures, enshrouded in sleeping bags encircled the fire.

"Any trouble?" Sheppard's whispered voice scratched from the lingering effects of a sound sleep. He flipped the cover off his watch, exposing the illuminated dials. Time passed too fast when one flirted with a sound sleep.

It was his turn on guard duty, again.

"They are cold." The Satedan jutted his chin toward Rodney's hidden form. McKay wasn't visible. He had at some point, scooted deep into his sleeping bag. Even protected within the insulated bedding, his curled outline shivered. The hint of the thermal silver sheet of blanket intermittently reflected fire light, where it leeched from the confines of Rodney's sleeping bag.

The shivering was unmistakable, however, the previous day had been harsh. The distance covered, the events of the day, the sapping cold of the planet rendered the astrophysicist exhausted. Rodney slept through his own discomfort, however, in the next few hours, when morning came to the 'civilized world', his fatigue would be greater than it had been the night before. Muscles would be stiffened and cold. He'd be more calorie starved and physical endurance would suffer greatly.

Across the fire, where they had left him after dressing his eyes, Beckett lay hidden wrapped in his silver thermal blanket, tightly curled within the confines of his sleeping bag. Despite the extra sleeping bag draped over him, he too exhibited the fine tremors of being cold. Like, Rodney, Carson remained asleep. Or so they assumed.

Sheppard considered them for a moment. "Let's drag Carson closer."

-----------------------------------------------------

Rodney woke, relishing the warm comfort of his sleeping bag. He burrowed down a little further, curled a little tighter, and pulled the silver blanket a little more securely about his shoulders. He rocked back a bit and hit something solid---and warm.

McKay paused.

He shifted his weight a little more, just testing, and sure enough, he hit something solid with his back.

The astrophysicist blinked, held his eyes closed, blinked again and slowly wormed his way toward the top of his sleeping bag.

The air outside the sleeping bag was fiercely brittle and almost drove Rodney back into the dark confines of warm comfort.

" 'Bout time you woke up," Ronon's deep voice had McKay crinkling the lip of his sleeping bag back and popping his head up off the ground to peer around.

Ronon sat holding a small container of steaming food. Jones sat on the opposite side of the ex-runner, gripping a small mug in both hands. The young marine glanced quickly toward the astrophysicist before dropping his eyes again.

Rodney didn't see Teyla or Beckett and sat up a little straighter.

A second blanket and sleeping bag that had lain over the top of him slid back. Sharp cold air bit his skin. He shivered. This was a firm reminder why he never missed camping as a child.

"You want breakfast, get over here." Sheppard leaned over the small cook fire stirring something in the small pot. "I'm not serving you breakfast in bed." The slight quirk, half smile softened his tone.

Motion at the entrance to their little cave pulled McKay's attention, and he spied Teyla stepping into the brighter portion of the cavern tucking her undershirt into her lighter snow pants.

"McKay, breakfast," Sheppard intoned again. This time he looked up and stared across the fire and met Rodney's eye. It was important to keep consuming calories and liquids in such deep cold. If they were ever to get out of this predicament then they needed to keep their energy.

With a grimace, McKay, kicked free of his sleeping bag, shoving off the extra outer bag he didn't remember being there when he had dropped off to sleep last night and sat up. The sting of cold air had him shivering. He reached quickly into his sleeping bag and retrieved his thinner fleece jacket, boots and hat.

"Don't wake the doc," Ronon ordered. "He can hear again." The Satedan further clarified.

McKay glanced to his right and finally noticed the sleeping bag smudged against his, more importantly he noticed the giant lump.

It was Beckett whom he had hit with his back just a few moments ago.

"What's he doing over here?" McKay shouldered on his fleece. "He was over there." Rodney stated, pulling his hat over his head and pointing with his chin.

"It got cold last night, Rodney," Sheppard intoned. He and Ronon had managed to slide Carson closer to McKay. Thank goodness Jones, McGilly and Beckett had the where-for-all to take the extra packs from their dead teammates. Ronon and Sheppard had managed to open and slip an extra sleeping bag under Rodney and Beckett, insulating them from the ground. A third had been draped over them both without waking either man.

It was a testament to their exhaustion and it concerned Sheppard.

"How can you tell?" McKay muttered disgruntledly.

"Breakfast, McKay," Sheppard re-stated.

"Shouldn't we be waking him up or something?" Rodney asked, slipping his boots on but, leaving them untied. He scrutinized the formless lump under the pile of sleeping bags and then wearily pushed himself to his feet.

He groaned as stiffened muscles and aching joints popped and stretched.

Yesterday's gallivanting across snow fields was surely going to kill him. Why couldn't anyone get lost on a sandy, jungle island, filled with friendly natives and beautiful blondes with open minds that welcomed all forms of exploration.

He stared accusingly at Sheppard, then Ronon and finally Beckett. There had to be some sort of fantastic, cosmically good reason, they got trapped in a frozen wasteland, in a dark cave, with no friendly gorgeous natives. They were, instead stuck with an eight foot snow monster lurking about and Wraith worshippers.

Unfair.

"Come on, Rodney," Sheppard encouraged with a half smile, wondering if he was reading McKay's look correctly. No desert island princesses here.

McKay moaned his displeasure about the sapping cold and hobbled over to the fire.

He sat with a groan, seemingly feeling every muscle in his body contract and twitch. Joints popped and cracked with each movement. This kind of cold just wasn't good for him. "This just can't be good for me…us."

Ronon grunted as he shoveled in hot oatmeal and grumbled something as he crooked his neck, tilting his head in the direction of Beckett.

"I see articulation fails you in the incessant cold." McKay pulled his inner lining gloves out of his jacket pockets and fumbled them on. "Why isn't Carson eating?"

"He already ate." Sheppard held a small steaming cup of porridge out to Rodney. "Here, McKay, there's more when you're finished."

McKay mumbled 'thanks' and held the steaming cup up to his face. His stomach gurgled loudly. Porridge had never looked so good in all his life. "Shouldn't we be waking him up and getting ready to head for the gate?"

"The storm is still fierce." Teyla settled quietly beside Rodney and smiled a thank you when Sheppard stretched out and handed her another mug of porridge.

"What?" Rodney peered from Teyla, to Ronon, to Sheppard and ignored Jones, who sat quietly with his eyes down cast. "What if lasts for days? We can't stay here? What are we going to do?" No computer tablet, no working technology, nothing. This was well beyond any nightmare 'harvest festival'. How was anyone supposed to survive in situations like this? _Dante only tapped the most superficial layers of Hell with his inadequate nine levels._

"I brought some playing cards," Jones muttered.

McKay stared at the young marine as if he had lost his mind, and then shook his head in exasperation. "Oh great, I guess what they say about the Marines always being prepared is true." _Maybe they could get in a rousing game of 'pick up sticks' after a challenging hand of Old Maid?_

"Knock it off, Rodney," Sheppard quietly ordered. The Colonel was cold and tired as the rest of them. There really wasn't much to be done. Jones seemed to be a good kid.

"I'm just saying," Rodney muttered.

"I know," Sheppard returned.


	5. Spidey Senses

The action finally picks up a bit. Alas I must flee the state and participate in an event with some good but very strange friends and hopefully see the sun again.

**Part 5**

Hours later and still the wind whistled and tore across the land, whipping snow and obscuring the sky. At times, standing at the very entrance of the cave, it was impossible to discern any type of detail. The maze of stone and ice was completely obscured. Rocky monoliths and glacier eruptions remained shielded behind a harsh curtain of whipping snow.

Every hour, one of the SGA-1 made their way to the cave opening to check on the progress of the storm.

The others remained behind, in the small cavern.

The tunnel at the back of the cave had meandered and wandered endlessly. After an hour of exploration, earlier in the morning, Sheppard had called it quits. They were not here for spelunking.

Rodney sat close to the fire and continued to fiddle with the life signs detector. His tablet remained packed away from the cold. The frigid temperatures had sapped the battery of its last spark of energy.

He commiserated with the tablet.

The astrophysicist occasionally gazed up from his work and surveyed the area. Teyla was still down the corridor watching the storm. Beckett slept curled under one of the few remaining unpacked sleeping bags. Sheppard had medicated and re-bandaged his eyes earlier in the morning. The swelling had receded. Through furious blinking and ulcerated corneas, Carson could discern shapes and movements if he squinted hard enough.

Jones had gained enough trust to be allowed to run the climbing lines and check the ropes for any weak spots. The corporal had become morosely silent. His white long sleeve shirt almost seemed to glow in the fire light of the cave.

Ronon sat near the entrance of the cavern sharpening one of his many hidden blades. Occasionally, McKay caught the Satedan staring at the silent Marine, watching the younger man's movements. Dex made his distrust very clear.

There were very few grey areas with Ronon.

Rodney found that refreshing.

Sheppard leaned against his pack, on a sleeping bag, watching the fire.

Bottles of oxygen had been counted and inventoried, pressures checked. Weapons had been cleaned and oiled. Water and food had been counted and sorted and what was not going to be used shortly was repacked. Excess sleeping gear was stowed and outer gear remained spread before the fire.

Soft footsteps in the sand had people popping their heads up and cautiously reaching for weapons, except for Carson. Soft snores belied his level of concern.

Teyla quietly entered the small lair. A smile brightened her features. "The storm has passed."

Ronon silently stowed his knife in an unseen sheath.

Jones stopped inching the rope through his fingers and watched his C.O.

Sheppard sat up, pushing his hat back off his forehead.

"How much daylight do we have left on this planet, Rodney?"

"By my calculations, I'd say close to 12 hours." McKay pocketed the life signs detector. "That might be just enough time to get Helen Keller over the ridge and across the ice to the gate."

Jones reached over to wake Beckett, but was halted mid move by Ronon's warning, "Don't."

The colonel sighed and leaned forward, lacing his boots. "Carson," Sheppard called with a hint of authority. He quickly snapped and buckled the protective synthetic covering over and around his boots hiding and shielding the laces from the weather. "Carson." Sheppard called again.

Beckett's snores were choked back as the doctor suddenly sat up, disguised and hidden by the sleeping bag. The sleeping bag turned left and right, paused, and then slowly folded back down into the sand a lumpy mound.

Ronon cocked his head to the side, staring at the unseen doctor and then over to the colonel.

Sheppard rubbed at his forehead with a hint of despondency. Sometimes traveling with scientists, he likened, to taking pre-schoolers on field trips.

"Come'n, Doc," Sheppard stood, gathering his coat.

The sleeping bag moved as the figure underneath it stretched.

"How are we going to get Dr. T. R. Armitage, there, over that ridge?" Rodney asked reaching around himself and gathering his own gear. "Let alone across the steppes to the gate?"

Sheppard paused in gathering his gloves, and shot McKay a weary look.

Apparently Carson was familiar with the name of T. R. Armitage.

Beckett rasped in McKay's general direction. Though no true articulation could be discerned his disgust was apparent, even if his body language was cleverly disguised by the sleeping bag.

"He can hear you now, Rodney," Sheppard smiled. The colonel pushed himself to his feet and rubbed thinly gloved hands together.

The stretched, unzipped sleeping bag rolled slightly left and then right. Heavy white socks poked out from one end and clasped finger tips from the opposite. Both quickly retreated from the bite of the cave's cool temperature.

"Ronon, get your gear. You and I are going to scout to see if there is an easier way up over this ridge." Sheppard put up a stalling hand, halting any type of verbal rebuke from Rodney and the others.

The sleeping bag sat up again.

"Rodney, I want you and Jones to start breaking camp." The colonel shucked on his coat, zipped it and then secured the Velcro flap that protected the teeth of the zipper from ice and wind. He grabbed his backpack and P-90, easily hoisting the pack over and onto his shoulders.

Beckett rasped indignantly and began trying to free himself from his bedding. The dizziness that had plagued him the night before had dissipated with the return of his hearing.

Sheppard stopped, his head cocked slightly to the side and watch Beckett wrestle with the sleeping bag. The Colonel stared for a moment and wondered how someone with such unparalleled success with genetics and medicine could have such difficulty with navigating an unzipped sleeping bag.

He found it both unsettling and a bit frightening.

Sheppard stepped around McKay and pulled the sleeping bag off of Beckett's head, freeing the physician. The Doctor sat, hat skewed, eyes bandaged, trying to wrestle on a boot.

"Carson, let them do their jobs and you just worry about getting yourself ready to travel." The colonel sighed and reached down. "The other foot, Carson." Sheppard took the boot from Beckett's hands and tapped the doctor's left foot. "Left boot, left foot." He placed the heavy soled trekker back in the Scot's hand and patted his shoulder.

Carson rasped something gazing up in the direction of the Colonel. Sheppard cocked his head to the side in mute question. He realized Beckett couldn't see him. "I didn't get that Carson."

Beckett rasped again with a hint of frustration.

"What? What is that? Is that supposed to mean something? Rodney asked slightly frustrated.

"I believe Dr. Beckett feels he can be of assistance," Teyla translated. Beckett nodded.

"I'm sure you can, Carson. But let us take care of things for right now," The colonel answered.

"You ready, Sheppard?" Ronon asked. He stood dressed in his outer gear, not a hint of skin remained visible. The neoprene mask was back in place, the bottle oxygen hidden in its carrier.

Sheppard nodded but stepped toward the Athosian. "Keep an eye on them," the colonel whispered without making any motion toward the three men.

Teyla simply nodded. "I shall accompany you to the entrance." She directed her head toward the others. "They will be safe for now."

Sheppard, Ronon and Teyla followed the twisted corridor to the outer opening of the cave.

The sky was a dazzling blue. All traces of a stormy sky had disappeared. The sun was brilliant, reflecting off the ice and snow with blinding intensity. The colonel turned and faced Teyla. "I want to trust Jones, but," Sheppard hesitated.

"I will keep a careful eye out, John," Teyla smiled reassuringly. She kept a mittened hand raised to shield her eyes from the painful glare of sunlight. Her red parka crinkled in the cold. "Go. Find a way over this ridge so we can be home quickly."

Sheppard nodded and smiled as he raised his neoprene mask over his face and snapped it in place.

Teyla watched the pair walk off to the left, in the opposite direction they had come in the night before. She stood at the entrance, and sighed, gathering her resolve in dealing with Drs McKay and Beckett. They were good people, good friends, but they fed on one another. Their verbal sparring and satire reminded her of children left too long in close proximity of one another. It was similar yet somehow different from the McKay Sheppard sparring matches. She was unsure as to why or how, but Sheppard and McKay often times needed a different type of intervention and diplomacy than the McKay, Beckett combination. Both were equally tiring but in different manner, like the weariness of hiking differed from the fatigue of running.

Teyla smiled, her bronze skin wrinkling in the arid cold. The wind scoured the ground, driving snow at ankle height in linear streams. She watched the Colonel and Dex grow smaller in the distance, behind a thin veil of blowing snow. They were a mismatched pair. She chuckled at the difference between John's carefree saunter and Ronon's purposeful pace. They complimented one another well on the battlefront. They made a good team.

All of them.

SGA-1 meshed. Her smile brightened, thinking of how well Rodney settled in their midst, elbowing to make room for himself, fidgeting and constantly moving. However, he fit.

She paused a moment longer at the mouth of the cave.

Dex and Sheppard slowly disappeared from sight.

Her eyes watered and her face stung from the bite of frigid, dry air. It was time to go back to the doctors and Corporal Jones.

As she turned to head back to the cavern, she caught a glimpse of white motion. A solid blow smashed into the side of her face. Her head snapped down and to the side. She rolled her shoulder slightly, pivoting on her dependent leg, her knee giving a little to ride with the blow, absorbing the shock.

Still the blow was true and powerful and Teyla was slammed down to one knee.

She struggled to regain her feet, already bringing up a defense and counter offensive.

A rapid, snapping second strike smashed into her head sending the Athosian crumpling into the sandy flooring.

Teyla lay lifeless just inside the entrance of the cave.

-------------------------------

Rodney gazed up from the life sign detector and scrutinized his surroundings. Beckett still fumbled with his winter gear. At least he put his coat on upside right, on the second attempt. His radio was nestled securely in his ear and hidden under his hat.

Jones was missing.

"Carson, where's…?" he snapped gloved fingers trying to come up with the name. Thick mittens hung by snaps from both his wrists.

Beckett rasped a response.

"What?" McKay stood up, automatically hefting his own backpack and shoving the ancient device back into a pocket. "I'm supposed to understand that?"

Rodney turned his attention to the entrance of the cavern. "Where'd Teyla go?" They had been alone too long. The Athosian should have been back by now.

Beckett rasped again, pointing to the solid wall to his left.

"Oh, stop talking," McKay ordered. Their sudden isolation made his skin crawl. He dropped his gloved hand to his .9mm. Something wasn't right. If Ronon had been here, the Satedan would probably be curling his lip. The damn man could almost smell danger.

McKay didn't believe he had Dex or Sheppard's 'spidey' senses. He didn't like to rely on gut feelings, preferring logic and fact over a 'sense' of impending doom. However, he had come to respect the little twinges of unease that often sparked in his gut when things seemed 'off' or wrong.

Something was wrong now. His spidey senses may not have been as developed as the others, but he had strong observational skills, and could gather and interpret facts better than most.

Sheppard and Dex were gone. Teyla and the marine were missing. People had been killed recently and a large creature roamed the area. One plus one often equaled two, however, in the Pegasus Galaxy, simple addition often contained hidden variables.

This was not good. Something was amiss.

"Carson, get over here," McKay ordered. He kept his gaze locked on the dark corridor that led to the outside entrance of the cave.

Beckett nodded, easily picking up the uneasiness in McKay's voice. The doctor took one step, hooked a foot on Jones's pack and promptly tripped, falling over his own pack. He landed solidly, chest and face first onto the one remaining unpacked sleeping bag.

Carson lay gasping for an elusive breath. The panic on his face, easily indicating he had knocked the wind from himself.

McKay's disgruntled groan was cut short by an unseen scraping noise in the corridor.

"Carson, ssshh," McKay whispered. The geneticist simply gaped silently, fighting to regain some residual volume in his lungs. A desperate gasp earned him a thankful reprieve as air flooded his chest.

The astrophysicist scrambled beside Beckett and helped haul him to his feet by his coated upper arm. Carson stood facing opposite direction of McKay.

"Did you hear that?" Rodney whispered next to Beckett's ear.

Carson merely shook his head, still relishing in the success of breathing again.

"Teyla?" McKay asked quietly, with a hint of hope.

There was more scraping, as if something was being dragged. It was closing on their position.

McKay tapped his radio. "Colonel, we've got a problem." He waited a heartbeat. "Colonel? Ronon? Teyla?" McKay waited again. "Anyone?"

At the intonation of anyone, Beckett quietly waved his hand, facing one of the walls.

"Not you," McKay pushed Carson's hand back down. "I think we're in trouble." He paused. "Where'd Jones's go?"

Beckett pointed to his right and rasped an answer squarely to the stone wall, his back to Rodney.

"Stop." McKay's frustration was palatable. He turned Beckett around as he spoke.

"Just---just stop pointing. You have no idea where you're pointing to."

The two stood listening.

McKay quickly examined their surroundings. There was nowhere to hide. They were sitting ducks. _Not good. So not good._ "Come on," Rodney whispered.

He slowly backed himself and Carson away from the campfire, creating more distance between themselves and the main entrance to the cave. He shuffled them around the little corner that led down the smaller, narrower tunnel that led to the endless maze of channels under the ridge.

It got densely black, quickly.

Rodney spun on his heels, turning Beckett as well and quickly led Carson along the narrow tunnel. The Scot occasionally mis-stepped and caught the toe of his boot on McKay's heel. Rodney led them deeper into the gloom for a few more moments. The sounds of their little campfire quickly disappeared.

There was no hint of light.

"Stay here. You understand me?" McKay whispered. "Carson, stay." He held his hand mimicking a halting motion and waited for a response.

Beckett shook his head and grunted at the order. He fumbled for Rodney's coated forearm, trying to keep the scientist with him.

"Just stay." McKay hesitated a second, trying to scrutinize his friend that stood just inches from him and yet unseen in the thick blackness. He freed his arm from Beckett's mittened hand and backed up a step. "Just wait here. Okay, Carson? Just wait."

Rodney crept back along the tunnel, keeping a hand to the craggy rock surface and made his way back to their cave. His breathing became labored as the thin air made itself known. McKay absently snapped his oxygen mask up over his face. The bottled air held a hint of sweetness. Within seconds, the slight burning in his chest dissipated. His cheeks no longer stung from the brittle cold.

He neared their camp.

The glow of the small fire wavered slightly, barely breaching the inky blackness of the tunnel.

The small firelight grew in strength, stretching uneven shadows as Rodney held close to the wall and closed the distance to their camp. The astrophysicist stopped just at the back bend of the cave and waited.

The scraping became increasingly louder. A guttural growl punctuated harsh gasps of breath. McKay poked his head around the bend and stared into their abandoned camp.

Gear lay scattered. Jones', Teyla's and Beckett's packs remained open and only partially full. Beckett's sleeping bag appeared as if a person still slept within it. It lay rumpled where Carson had left it. A few oxygen bottles and miscellaneous food packets were scattered about waiting to be packed.

A familiar form entered the living area. A P-90 was held ready at the shoulder and finger curled around the trigger.

The quick report of gunfire exploded in the small area. P-90 rounds tore through the crumpled sleeping bag jerking it haphazardly backward and throwing insulation into the air.

Rodney's eyes widened in shock and then narrowed. His surprise was tempered by the harsh experience of living in the Pegasus Galaxy.

The 'intruder's' weapon was slowly lowered. The figure surveyed the empty camp. Confusion, then anger and finally understanding flashed across clean cut features. Hazel eyes then focused on the back corner where the second narrow tunnel lead deeper into the rock. Cold eyes tightened and a toothy humorless smile creased boyish good looks.

The hunter didn't see his prey, but he deduced where they took shelter. Their eyes never met.

C4 and detonating caps were hauled from tack vest pockets. "Good bye, Dr McKay, Dr. Beckett," whispered forth under a maniacal chuckle.

"Not good, not good, so not good," McKay muttered. His heart raced as epinephrine poured into his system. He pushed from his crouch by the wall and hastily back peddled deeper into the enveloping darkness of the tunnel. The .9mm at his hip remained unnoticed.

McKay pivoted on the ball of his foot, fumbling for his flashlight, and sprinted his way back to Carson.

Rodney didn't think he had been spotted, not that it mattered. Not at all. There were not many places to hide in a one room cave.

"Run, Carson! Run!" Rodney screamed over his radio as he tore down the sandy tunnel, hands held out, he fumbled with twisting on his flashlight. After just a moment the light flared to life and bobbed wildly left and right with each panicked step he took.

He rounded a corner and ran full bore into Beckett who was running toward him. They slammed into one another, rebounding back and crashing to the ground.

"The other way! Run the other way!" McKay pulled himself clear of Beckett, jumped to his feet and tried dragging the physician forward and to his feet at the same time.

Beckett scrambled to catch up and get his footing under him. He rasped ineffectually at McKay.

Dizziness that seemed mostly at bay suddenly confounded Carson with vertigo. He couldn't seem to find both feet and waffled between walking on his feet, knees and one hand.

Rodney tugged at the juncture of his coat shoulder and hood, relentlessly urging him onward, throwing his balance off even more.

"C4! He's got C4!" Rodney whispered heatedly, trying force his friend onward.

Beckett finally managed both feet and took three faltering steps guided by McKay.

Then Carson's dark, unsteady world shook violently. The ground heaved. A solid wall of sound physically crashed over the pair as superheated air forcefully shoved them forward.

Beckett bowled into and then over McKay.

Air was crushed from Carson's chest when he slammed harshly into the sandy ground.


	6. Blind leading the blind

Back from the trip. 

**Part 6 **

He could smell dust and rock. He could smell the cold.

That forced him to pause.

Cold did have a distinctive odor. Not like coffee or tea. Not a flavor that his nose could fool his tongue into tasting---the cold held its own peculiar odor.

It was---cold.

Then memories cascaded down on him, out of order, out of time. Flashes really; Rodney yelling at him to run; Lieutenant Wells bleeding; Teyla telling him about the diabolical Snow Yeti. Beckett shuddered at that memory. A silent marine he couldn't put a face or name to; Sheppard asking him questions about who was killing whom?

Then an explosion.

Rodney and he running into one another.

Beckett rubbed at his head. It was dark. Oppressively dark. He was lying on his stomach. The floor was sandy. He rubbed at his face and discovered the bandages. The ice fields came flashing to the forefront, the struggles and loss of members from SGA-6. The taste of fear and terror bubbled forth and lingered for a bit before seeping away.

C4. Rodney had shouted about C4.

Rodney.

Carson called for Rodney. A weak rasp escaped. It sent searing sharp pain through his pharynx and larynx. Everything back in his oropharnyx hurt. He swallowed finding the action both difficult and painful. Memories concerning that injury remained elusive.

Beckett wiggled his toes and fingers, cautiously rolled his ankles and wrists and worked his way up his limbs.

Nothing seemed broken. He took a few test breaths, wiggled his shoulders, cautiously rolled his neck. So far so good.

The doctor called for Rodney again. His voice was ineffective. The lack of sound infuriating.

Carson lay belly down in the sand and listened.

Rock, dust and dirt settled around him. He could feel dust gently land and coat his bare face.

Where was Rodney?

Beckett reached blindly with a mittened hand, sweeping it in front of himself in a tight arc, skiffing the sand, searching blindly. He finally hit a solid boot.

Beckett inched forward and was relieved that the boot was attached to a lower leg, that remained attached and relatively aligned with an upper leg, then hip, pelvis, torso, shoulders, neck and head. All the major bits and pieces seemed to be in place.

Quick, educated hands, that didn't need working eyes, easily examined the body on the ground.

It was Rodney. No major horrible breaks. No major misalignments or dislocations. A lower limb, patient's right, didn't feel correct, a touch too swollen. A left proximal humerus gave a little more leeway than it should. All inconvenient, none directly life threatening.

Indirectly---that was another story.

Beckett ran his fingers under McKay's hat. His fingers came away tacky with warm, thick fluid. Carson gently palpated the wound. No 'step off' depressions. Rodney had a head wound. Superficial. The skull felt intact.

If the man kept smacking his skull around like he did, he would knock himself back a few IQ points and join the just 'above' average intelligence world.

Carson couldn't rule in or out unseen hemorrhage and it worried him. But he wouldn't borrow trouble. They apparently had enough already.

McKay began to slowly vocalize, incoherent gibberish. As his moans became more articulate, he began moving his arms and legs, scratching them in the sand and inadvertently pushing small rocks aside.

Beckett tried speaking to him, gently restraining him, as was supposed to be done with someone returning to consciousness. His voice failed him.

Carson suddenly became sharply impatient with his own condition, damning his temporary blindness and his inability to talk. His anger quickly dissipated with the sound of Rodney's voice.

"Sheppard?" McKay slurred. He moved again, trying to sit up but met resistance. "Ohh, God, Colonel what have you gotten us into now?"

Beckett smiled in the utter darkness and carefully shook his head. He gently tapped McKay's masked face and again rasped.

"Carson?" Rodney asked. Beckett smiled half heartedly, relieved that McKay was oriented and articulating. Well articulating at least.

He couldn't see McKay open his eyes and blink. Beckett couldn't appreciate the evenness of the dilated pupils. Or the furrow of concern, Rodney displayed as he assessed his own environment.

Carson couldn't make out the soft glow of the dropped flashlight that lay just at Rodney's mittened fingertips. The doctor couldn't distinguish the soft shadows that played against the tunnel's walls.

Carson didn't see the giant boulder that rocked precariously just a few yards above him and Rodney on a ledge too small and too fragile to support its weight and shape.

"Move!" Rodney hollered and pushed upward. He flipped Carson over to the left, against the far wall, throwing himself on top of Beckett, just as the giant boulder broke free and dropped to the ground where they had just lain.

It landed with a dull thud, displacing a small wave of sand.

It missed their flashlight by mere inches.

Carson floundered, lost in the sudden change in position. His world turned upside down and unsettled.

Rodney kept Beckett pinned to the ground and rested his head on the physician's shoulder, trying to catch his breath, willing his heart to slow down, and pray he didn't see the violent return of his porridge.

McKay couldn't help his own trembling. He knew he had to be shaking. He could feel it from his leg to his shoulder.

He appreciated the soft, hesitant mitten hand that reached up and awkwardly pat his back in comfort.

_This had to be Sheppard's fault somehow. _

McKay kept his forehead on Beckett's shoulder for just a moment longer before sitting up.

His right leg protested sharply and immediately. He cried out and flopped back down onto Beckett.

Parkas puffed and billowed.

Carson, unseeing and unprepared for the move, rasped in surprise and jerked away, bringing up a knee. He twisted in the sand.

McKay jarred his shoulder and also recoiled trying to untangle himself from the physician. An unseen knee struck his lower leg. Bruised and swollen muscles contracted and brought agony to his limb. He cried out.

Beckett, unable to see, but definitely intuned to sound, recoiled again, fearing unknown danger, grabbed for McKay to shove his friend behind him and away from whatever sparked the panic.

Carson's forearm clothes-lined the bridge of Rodney's nose.

"Ow! Ow! Stop it. Stop it." McKay swatted Beckett's hand away.

Beckett rasped a question.

"No. No. Of course I'm not alright." McKay twisted slowly and painfully to the side. He moved himself into a sitting position beside the physician. Carson carefully scooted upright. He tried to rest back against the unseen wall, mis-judged where it was and fell back into the sand, flailing his arms and legs.

Rodney shook his head and scooted clear of the floundering limbs. Carson was a smart guy, as far as medical people went, he'd get himself figured out.

Beckett sat up and this time felt for the wall, re-adjusting his spot and then carefully leaned back into it. He rasped again.

"C4. He tried to blow us up with C4."

Beckett merely nodded. He then looked in the general direction of Rodney and rasped yet another question.

Rodney sighed. He found it unnerving that Carson spoke to him but didn't quite 'look' at him. His questions were getting annoying too. "I don't know where Teyla is."

Beckett furrowed his brow, shook his head and rasped a question again.

McKay waved his good hand in the air, "I already told you," Rodney said and then stated slowly and loudly, "I don't know where Teyla is." He leaned forward and scrutinized the doctor. McKay took his mitten off with his teeth and snapped his finger next Beckett's head.

Carson swung around attempting to bat McKay's hand away but missed.

"Just making sure you can still hear me." McKay then muttered, "I don't like repeating myself."

Beckett huffed in exasperation and rasped again, with a touch of impatience.

McKay tossed his hands in the air. "I--Don't---Know---where---Teyla---is." McKay spoke one deliberate word at a time.

Beckett growled.

"We haven't got time for twenty questions. Its time we find out where this tunnel goes."

Carson rubbed at his head and rasped a question.

"Colonel Sheppard and Ronon will never find us in here. Besides for all we know _he_ might have booby trapped the camp."

Beckett flopped his hands in the air with exasperation and rasped again, with more pointed urgency.

"Colonel Sheppard! And Ronon! Won't! Find! Us!" Rodney shouted. He rubbed at his shoulder in despondency. "Geez, I thought your hearing was supposed to be improving."

Carson threw his hands into the air and struggled to his feet. He promptly smashed his head into a low over hang. He dropped back to the sand, curling onto his side and clutched at his head, groaning.

"Oh, watch out of that outcropping," McKay winced.

The scientist waited a moment watching Beckett roll back and forth in the sand clutching the top of his hooded head.

When Carson finished McKay leaned forward. "Hold still for a moment." He adjusted the gauze bandages that were askew on Beckett's face.

Carson tried to squirm away from the thick mittened, fumbling hands that scratched at his face and sensitive eyes.

"Oh, quit being such a baby," McKay complained. "Hold still." He rubbed the gauze smooth with his palms. "There. You'll probably survive your injuries. Me? Probably, not so much." McKay delicately fingered the side of his head. He whimpered when his mittens came away darkened with small spots of blood. _Why did these things have to happen to him? He deserved better….he really did. _

He worked his way to his feet and brushed sand from his clothing. "Can you take the pack?"

Beckett merely nodded and cautiously climbed to his feet. Once standing he remained still and waited.

Rodney took a few steps, delicately bent down and scooped up the flashlight. His head suddenly swam. He fell into the wall, leaning against the stone with his good shoulder, waiting for the sudden haphazard undulation of the shadowy world around him to stop. Nausea swirled in with the tides of dizziness.

Favoring his injured leg and shoulder, McKay pushed off the wall and took a hesitant step forward. He straightened carefully, testing his stomach and with a muffled moan, he headed a few feet deeper into the tunnel. McKay stopped with a pained sigh when he noticed Beckett didn't follow.

"Well, come on," McKay whispered with a touch of impatience. The scientist delicately turned and watched somewhat dismayed as Carson was about to take a bold step right into the pack.

"Wait, wait. Here I come." Rodney kept a hand to his head and limped back toward Beckett. With unsteady movements, and questioning the intelligence of bending over, he directed Carson's hand toward the dropped backpack.

McKay made to straighten up and was hit with severe vertigo and nausea. "Oh no…not good, not good." He felt the color drain from his face and a cold sweat dampened his skin. Suddenly shaky legs folded and Rodney found himself sitting hard on the ground, with no true sense of up or down.

"No..no…no." Rodney muttered softly to himself. His mouth filled with saliva, which he allowed to string from his mouth, fearing that if he should swallow, his stomach would return its contents violently and abruptly.

He felt a gentle hand on the back of his head carefully ease his head forward and between his bent knees. His hood was pulled back and hat removed. The brisk air stung his suddenly sweating scalp. Blunt fingers moved delicately along his hairline, once again feeling the cut. The wide elastic straps that secured his oxygen mask were moved slightly out of the way. The movement pulled on the stiff, tacky hairs that were glued to them.

"Ow! Carson, quit it." McKay weakly batted the offending touch away. Beckett's hand disappeared. Rodney heard his pack open and listened as the physician rummaged through it, searching its contents by touch.

"Here give me that, you won't find anything." Rodney weakly jerked the bag from Carson's hands and deftly dug the small medical kit out from the very bottom of his bag. He held it away from Beckett's imploring hands. "I re-arranged it. It's in better order now. Makes much more sense than the way your cronies had it put together." McKay muttered.

Carson groaned in frustration and sat back on his heels waiting with a touch of impatience.

"I don't know how that scrambled brain of your works, but the way you had my first aid kit set made absolutely no sense, no sense at all." Rodney spoke quietly to himself, "never would have found anything in here in a time of emergency."

Beckett rasped hotly in return. Pained seared his throat.

"No, I didn't arrange it alphabetically, though it was a thought." McKay snarled.

Carson sighed and pulled the first aid kit away from McKay's hands. The astrophysicist harrumphed but kept quiet as Beckett quickly ran his hands lightly over the supplies. Rodney wasn't terribly surprised when Carson deftly picked out some 4X4's, rolled gauze, and after a false start, antiseptic.

"Give me those." McKay grabbed the sponges and antiseptic with shaking hands and applied them to his own wound. He held them in place while Beckett quickly and efficiently secured them with the gauze and strips of tape. Rodney grabbed a packet of Tylenol and thought about taking them.

His stomach rolled in rebellion. He pocketed the bubble package instead.

"You need anything?"

Beckett simply shook his head and settled back in the sand, bringing the medical duffle onto his lap.

McKay sat with his head still down near his knees, hoping for the return of equilibrium.

He watched surreptitiously as Beckett re-ordered the medical kit and then shoved it back into the pack, keeping it near the top.

"Do you have oxygen?" Rodney noticed Beckett's face. His cheeks and chin were hidden under the neoprene but no oxygen appeared connected to it.

Beckett slowly shook his head.

"You should have mine." Rodney tried lifting a heavy hand but Beckett stopped him with a gentle hold and shook his head.

McKay scrutinized his friend for a moment and then nodded understanding the logic behind Beckett's refusal. Rodney was their best hope in getting out of this mess. He needed his brains running on all cylinders.

Rodney didn't like it, not the guilt associated with keeping the oxygen, not the weight of responsibility and not the added crunch of pressure to find the others.

Being a genius really was a hardship.

Carson rasped a quiet question.

Rodney sighed tiredly, "As I said earlier, no one is going to find us here, except maybe that lunatic."

Carson rasped again, sounding a little more impatient and frustrated.

"I said," Rodney repeated with a bite of impatience, " No. One. Is….oh, forget it." McKay climbed to his feet, keeping one hand flush to the wall. "Come on lets go." He reached down and guided Beckett up, shoving the doctor's discarded mittens into his chest. He waited impatiently as Carson fumbled them on.

"Here, you have to carry this." McKay guided the physician's hands back to the pack.

Carson struggled with it to his shoulders, the bulky parka hindering his efforts. With Rodney's help they managed to snap the buckles without snaring Beckett's coat.

"Okay, let's go." McKay took only a half step before stopping. Carson stood completely still.

"Right." McKay was suddenly at his side, tapping Beckett's arm. Carson lifted a mitten hand and placed it on Rodney's shoulder.

"Ow, ow, not that one. The other one. The other one." Rodney winced and fought the urge to just sit down and wait for the others to find them. _That could be an eternity._

His head hurt, he was nauseated, dizzy and didn't think he had the strength to walk a few yards let alone trek aimlessly through a maze of tunnels dodging impending doom. But Teyla was missing, probably hurt; Sheppard was invariably lost and dragging Ronon around with him, wandering aimlessly under the pretense of knowing exactly where he was; and then there was Carson, just standing there like a kicked puppy, waiting for direction.

McKay gave a delicate but heavy put upon sigh. It was difficult always having to be the one to pull the rabbit out of the hat and save the day…or at the very least find Sheppard.

Carson muttered an apology and gingerly placed his hand on McKay's left shoulder.

"You ready?"

Beckett merely nodded.

McKay sighed despondently, "Yes, yes, just me and Joseph Plateau."

Carson grunted and shook his head.

With flashlight in hand, McKay directed them in a weaving fashion further into the tunnel.

The light bobbed with every limping step Rodney took. The beam barely penetrated the darkness. The blackness slightly diluted to grey but deep blackness snugged the periphery of light like a living breathing thing.

With Beckett attached to his shoulder like a prison march, Rodney led them further from their demolished camp. Darkness quickly enveloped their trail, curtaining them off from any visible retreat or encroaching danger.

-------------------------------

The colonel narrowed his eyes and stared in the general direction they had just come. He and Dex had not been gone more than 15 minutes and traveled only a short distance.

They had not found a suitable place to make their way up over or through the ridge. It was beginning to look more and more like they would have to lead Beckett up along the narrow path they had traversed earlier. It would be tricky but manageable.

The colonel didn't want to waste any more time looking for an easier route. Time was going to be tight. If they pushed for the gate now, if the weather held, if they didn't trip across any Yetis, snow or corn or otherwise, and if they didn't run into trouble like Lieutenant Wells, they just might make the gate before the sunset.

Sheppard turned in a tight circle, searching the enclosed space with a hopeful but jaundiced eye. They were wasting daylight.

"Let's get back to the…." The colonel started to say but suddenly stopped when the ground shook.

Small aggregates of snow, ice and rock rolled free from the looming glaciers and rocks.

Sheppard's arms flashed out as he struggled to keep his balance. Ronon mirrored his actions.

The motion stopped as abruptly as it began.

The two stared at one another. Both were masked by their oxygen, goggles and hats.

"Quake?" Dex asked. His voice sounded calm over the tiny radio.

Sheppard narrowed his eyes behind his goggles. He thought for a moment, and then felt a second less intense shake.

It was focused. Pin point.

"Explosives," he muttered, his mind traveling a hundred different avenues.

"C4!" he shouted and took off sprinting toward the cave. The bulk and weight of his gear foiled his speed. It shaved his natural agility.

Ronon paced him a step behind, neither gaining nor losing ground. The Satedan could dust the floors of Atlantis with Sheppard when it came to speed and distance running, there was no doubt, and the Colonel was no fool to think otherwise. However, safety came in numbers. To protect the others, they had to remain alive. To peel McKay and Beckett from whatever trouble those two embroiled Teyla into, Ronon and Sheppard had to work together.

One outrunning the other would jeopardize more than any one individual may win.

-------------------------------

Rodney stuttered a stepped, dragging a toe through the sand. His gait faltered. He consciously tightened his grip on the flashlight. It seemed as if he could feel every muscle in his forearm contract. It felt as if lead ran through his veins.

He had thought that the fatigue that rolled his shoulders, dropped his chin and slouched his neck and drummed his head was due to hunger. Low blood sugar. He knew himself to be hypoglycemic even though the medical community, especially Carson, simply placated him. He was familiar enough with the signs of hypoglycemia. They weren't terribly life threatening and it was easy to fix. The power bar he had choked down only twenty minutes ago should have rectified the situation. His step should have sprung back by now. He should have felt the energy electrify his blood, or at least beat back the smothering tide of fatigue.

With an increasingly unsteady step, Rodney shuffled forward, leading Carson.

He put a mittened hand out to run along the tunnel's wall. His head swam as his stomach flip-flopped like a gymnast's floor routine. He felt lightheaded and dense. For a moment, McKay wondered if this was how the mundane average person felt every day. Was this how slow the ordinary thought process worked in the average person? Like analog or dial-up for a modem.

The powerbar should have worked. Dreadful food really; gummy, sticky, but easily digestible and saved him the time from having to stop what he was working on for a sit down meal. Still Powerbars and their ilk could use some improvement in texture, taste and chewability. They could use an overhaul.

He staggered a step, putting more weight on his injured leg than it could bear. He hissed shutting his eyes for a bit. The oppressive headache tightened with every beat of his heart, and corkscrewed spirals of pain from his neck to eyeballs.

He was going to be sick. It would hurt on more levels than he thought he could tolerate.

"Rodney?"

Carson's distorted voice grated on his nerves. The physician's hand on his shoulder felt like a hundred kilos of lead. The very pressure intensified the tireless ache that crushed his head.

"Rodney?"

McKay staggered again. He felt short of breath as if a great band tightened his torso. He couldn't get enough oxygen.

Rodney fell against the tunnel wall. His arm folded and his injured shoulder banged into the unforgiving rock. He cried out, his voice weak. Rodney stayed upright and curled inward, trying to raise his good hand to grasp at his injured shoulder.

He couldn't find the strength. He couldn't find the breath. He pawed at the neoprene mask that suffocated him.

Rodney staggered another step, and then a third, before going down to one knee, then two. The crushing weight of Beckett's hand left his shoulder.

_He couldn't catch his breath. He couldn't breathe_.

The flashlight rolled from suddenly lax fingertips. The small beam highlighted the track covered sand. Bear tracks from the outline or Cornelius Klondike's abominable snowman. _No gold here._

Rodney's mind swirled in a dense fog.

McKay pitched forward, face turned to the side, staring at the darkened granite wall and the up close outline of a clawed foot track. A back foot from the looks of the print. He had read about animal tracks as a child. It had held his interest about as well as a screen door held water. But he remembered the images.

Unusual bear tracks. A big one….the tracks looked bi-pedal. A circus bear, perhaps, or a snow yeti.

He heard Carson call his name a few times. Beckett sounded far away and worried.

McKay was worried too. Bear tracks in a dark cave plus their run of luck equaled trouble. Circus bears were notoriously unkind, snow yetis too. A bad, bad combination.

Someone should warn Carson.

Rodney's head hurt, his chest hurt. He couldn't seem to breathe. Maybe it was time for him to change oxygen bottles.

McKay's head swam. The flashlight was dimming or his brain was shutting off. Neither one very good.

He heard Beckett call him again. More worried, more concerned. He hoped Carson didn't wander off and get lost.

The crushing pain in Rodney's head deluded any ache in his shoulder or leg. It felt as if a giant hand was squeezing his brain like one would a lemon into sweetened tea.

Not good. Not good at all.

Rodney let his eyes roll just as he felt Carson blindly reach for his shoulder.


	7. The Codona Brothers

**Part 7**

Sheppard spied a dark, crumbled form just at the entrance to their little cave. With wheezing breath, and aching legs he picked up his pace. His boots bit through the snow and ice, gripping true and allowing him to kick off with more vigor.

Ronon's solid footfalls crunched just a half second behind.

The dark lump took on the shape of a body. Even through the heavy winter gear, the gentle curves and swells of the hips, shoulders and chest took recognizable form.

Female. Teyla.

Sheppard closed the distance quickly. His eyes rapidly surveyed their narrow surroundings. No obvious danger lurked about, however, he left the true assessment to Ronon.

The colonel dropped to his knees and utilizing his teeth, quickly freed his hand from its mitten. He worked his hand between the multiple layers of Teyla's clothing and found her neck. Warm flesh met his fingertips. Within seconds, educated fingers found a steady, quiet pulse.

"Well?" Ronon's deep voice sounded like distant thunder in his ear.

"She's alive."

"Where are the others?"

Sheppard glanced around the entrance, his gaze resting at the solid block of freshly collapsed snow, ice and rock that effectively obstructed any entry to their former camp.

He tapped his radio and called repeatedly for McKay, then Beckett and finally Jones.

Static was his only reply.

With his heart in his throat and anger coursing through his veins, Sheppard turned his attention back to the Athosian. Her left cheek was marred by a large bruise and associated swelling. Her goggles were askew, but her oxygen mask remained in place. The colonel quickly checked the pressure and found it adequate.

Teyla began to moan. Incoherent at first, the un-articulate sounds slowly morphed to muttering. Her deep brown eyes fluttered open, rolled, closed and repeated.

"Teyla." Sheppard gently tapped her cheek. "Teyla." His quiet calls were laced with urgency.

After a bit her eyes remained open, and through her protective lenses she focused on John and then Ronon.

"Teyla?"

"Rodney? Carson?" she whispered, trying to push herself upright. Her arms shook and her body trembled. She managed to sag heavily into John.

Sheppard guided her up and supported her weight, knowing it went against basic first aid. However, they didn't have time to play it safe. Not yet.

"Do you know where they are?" Ronon asked peering down over his shoulder at the two while he stood just at the archway of the cave, watching for movement outside.

"The camp. They were in camp," Teyla muttered, bringing a heavy hand to her head.

Both Sheppard and Ronon stared at the blocked narrow tunnel. Tons of boulders and ice jammed and gorged the corridor. The smell of freshly disturbed dirt, snow and rock filled the air.

Teyla kept her head down, fighting the swirling that seemed to dominate her vision.

"What happened, Teyla?" Sheppard softly coaxed.

"I don't….I don't know," she softly admitted, lifting her head slightly to meet Sheppard's concerned look.

Ronon strode by the two and examined the wall of fallen rock and ice.

"We will not be able to get through this."

Sheppard sat back on his haunches supporting the Athosian. He stared at the collapsed tunnel and then back out into the snow.

"They might have made it to the back tunnel."

"We do not know where that led to," Teyla quietly stated. Her head swam. Fine focus was just out of reach.

"I'm not assuming they're buried in there," Sheppard bit.

"Nor am I," Teyla mollified. Bile rose in her throat. She wished not to vomit. Not now. Not ever really.

"We should head up over the ridge, see if they come out the other side," Ronon opinioned.

"If they don't," Sheppard stared up at the light blue sky. Not a cloud marred the horizon. The weather would hold. "You get Teyla back to the gate and bring help."

Ronon didn't bother arguing, though a fight sat just at the tip of his tongue. Sheppard appreciated the ex-runners show of control, but also dreaded the fight that was sure to follow should they not find the others.

-------------------------------

"Rodney?"

McKay scrunched his face. A dull ache racked his head.

A soft hand patted his cheek. McKay rolled his head away from the touch. He just needed a little more time to sleep. It would set him right. Sleep normally did that, siphoned out nausea, cleared away headaches, leeched aches from his muscles.

Sleep was often much like caffeine in curing all that ailed him.

"Rodney?" The voice persisted, mangling his name, but the cadence and intonation were accurate enough to make the attempted pronunciation identifiable. The hand continued to tap his cheek. Though gentle, its persistence was maddening.

It had to be Carson, or the Colonel.

"Go," McKay mumbled with a distinct air if displeasure.

"Sshhh." Panic laced the sound. The hand continued to tap his face but with a little more vigor.

"Quit," McKay grumbled with more authority and volume.

"Rodney," There was a pause and in it that silence exigency was conveyed.

McKay groaned. Since when don't they have trouble? He paused at the 'they'. Who was the 'they'?

"Please, Rodney." There was a panic in the rasping and a touch of an accent. _Scottish. Carson?_

_Oh, what had Sheppard landed him into now?_ McKay tried to pull his blanket up over his shoulders and turn away from Beckett and his IVs and palpating hands. The man was really much too touchy feely for McKay.

"Rodney." The urgency was unmistakable. His name however, kept getting mangled.

McKay furrowed his brow. Carson sounded more than a bit panicked. Why did everyone rely on him, Rodney McKay, to solve the galaxy's problems?

_The weight of being a genius. It was burdensome. _

A string of incoherent, unarticulated nonsense was breathed just adjacent to his ear.

The close proximity of the voice unnerved him, and Rodney rolled away, swiping a stiff arm up and around. His forearm and elbow connected solidly with something that groaned.

McKay opened his eyes and found himself in pitch darkness. _Not the infirmary. Not the Daedalus, and certainly not Atlantis._

He began to panic.

Then Carson was at his side, putting his chilled hand over his mouth and whispering desperately in his ear.

McKay shook him off and tried shifting away to create more distance between himself and the doctor. Beckett was being just a bit too clingy. Then his mittened hand bumped into the flashlight.

With a sigh, McKay snatched it up and flicked the light on.

Their small dark world suddenly came aglow in the dim light.

An uncovered oxygen bottle lay bare in the sand, adjacent to his ankle.

Carson crouched beside him. His eyes unbandaged, swollen but open and stared down a tunnel that forked to their left.

"Should your eyes be…," McKay started.

Carson heatedly hissed at him, waving his hand in a silencing motion. The physician stared at the dark tunnel to their left and narrowed his eyes as if trying to focus deeper into the blackness.

Something was in the tunnels with them. Bear tracks, McKay remembered seeing alien bear tracks.

"What? What is it?" Rodney asked. "A bear?" For some reason a circus bear came to his mind's eye, twirling on its hind feet----wearing a pink tutu. That frightened him. He stared in the same direction as Beckett. He took orders from his teammates but not many others. However, he understood and appreciated the body language of panic and fear.

Carson was exuding both.

Beckett merely pointed and held a mittened hand to his mouth in a shushing gesture.

McKay complied as he swung the light over toward the tunnel.

A set of gleaming eyes with horizontal pupils reflected the light back at them at their seated level.

"Oh God, dead men," McKay whimpered.

Beckett nodded, vigorously.

Rodney fumbled for his .9mm while keeping his gaze locked on the set of pupils that stared unblinkingly at them.

He groped for his holster with both hands, managing to unsnap the safety strap but never taking his eyes from the shadow enshrouded creature.

The horizontal pupils disappeared and a hissing breath seared forth as sand suddenly shifted.

McKay heard rather than saw the creature lunge.

He squeezed his eyes closed, bracing for a forward attack. He yelped when a body blind-sided him from the left. _Carson_.

McKay's head snapped to the left, banging off his own shoulder as Carson's shoulder embedded itself in Rodney's flank.

The flashlight was knocked from Rodney's hand and rolled a few feet and stopped.

The light focused on the far wall. A small dim halo of illumination browned the area.

McKay struggled to free his sidearm while partially pinned beneath Beckett and the monster.

Beckett fought and kicked at the creature that slashed at him with tooth and claw.

Hissing and snarling filled the area. Beckett's rasping screams were lost in the sounds of the attacking animal.

Under the flurry of flying limbs and snapping teeth, McKay pulled his gun. Kicking himself free of the struggle, he latched onto Beckett's coat collar and brutally yanked the physician to the side and into the cavern wall, freeing him from the creature.

The dim flashlight silhouetted the creature.

_Bipedal. Apish bipedal._ McKay found some satisfaction that he had labeled the tracts correctly. Genius.

It stalked toward the scientist, white furred shoulders bulging and knotting with each swinging step it took. McKay shuffled back, raising his gun.

With a dropping of its head below its shoulder, the cave creature lunged.

Rodney began firing. The explosive discharge of the weapon in closed quarters was deafening. He kept on firing even as the monstrous weight slammed into his chest and drove him to the ground. His finger continued to squeeze the trigger.

_Squeeze…gently squeeze the trigger, don't yank, don't pull…gently apply pressure_. Sheppard's voice rang in his head, both admonishing and with a hint of junior high teasing and innuendo.

Fetid, humid breath washed over his face. _Screw squeezing the trigger._ McKay pulled the trigger with all his strength.

The deafening report of gunfire was suddenly replaced by an empty clicking.

The flash of teeth, orange tinged saliva and red irises were suddenly shoved from view by a flying body in a torn parka.

_Carson. Damn man thought he was one of the flying Codona brothers_.

Something solid connected harshly with McKay's jaw, stunning him.

The .9mm dropped the sand with its empty chamber coiling blue grey whisps of smoke.


	8. Watch your step

**Part 8**

A small knot of three resolutely picked their way up the narrow ridge path. One trailed behind, stepping confidently and securely. The two in front, appeared merged together through the curtain of blowing snow.

"Do you think they survived the blast?" Ronon's voice was quiet but direct and competed with the constant howl of relentless wind. Had it been a few months ago, he would have certainly believed that the two doctors succumbed to the explosion and crushed under a couple tons of dislodged stone. Months after being with the Atlanteans, Dex could not be too sure.

He had seen the most unlikely individuals survive the most dire and dangerous circumstances, and had witnessed trained, disciplined fighters lose their lives under seemingly mundane events.

Doctors Beckett and McKay were unlikely characters, and they were certainly not trained fighters. In the confusing, structured world created by the Atlanteans, it seemed those two would likely persevere.

But even luck ran out.

Teyla wheezed, trying to follow the conversation that spun over her head. She struggled to keep her tumultuous stomach from heaving. Her feet occasionally crossed and she would stagger haphazardly into the Colonel.

"Survive? They'd better," Sheppard mumbled. He adjusted his stride, tightened his grip on Teyla and continued to pick their way up the sharp ridgeline of rock and glacier.

The wind tugged at clothing and scoured the narrow path turning snow to ice.

-------------------------------

Rodney lay still, staring up at the craggy rock ceiling above him. His breath came back to him in large panicked gasps. He had never had the wind knocked from him so many times since leaving high school. It was a not a sensation he had ever wanted to revisit. However, it kept getting thrust back on him since meeting up and subsequently joining Colonel Sheppard and becoming a member of his team.

The cold air needled his bare face and nipped at the tip of his nose. His breath ghosted in small plumes just before his eyes. The sand beneath him was hard and cold.

The metallic smell of gunfire filled the small area.

Movement near his head had him contemplating moving. He took a breath, felt his chest twinge and figured he'd contemplate it some more.

Then the rasping. A questioning, tentative rasping. _Carson_.

Rodney, for the first time ever, really, wished Beckett had his voice. Not that he had ever wished Carson never had his voice, truthfully he never contemplated it one way or another. But right now, at this very second, he wished Carson could just articulate something coherent.

"Of course I'm not alright," McKay muttered. "Some cave dwelling beast just tried to eat us." Rodney then took a moment to run a mitten hand up and down his torso searching for any tell tale rents in his person.

Nothing. Thank goodness.

More movement scratched from somewhere beyond his sight and then more rasping. "How should I know if there are any more of them?"

He didn't hear any movement for a bit. Had he turned his head, McKay would have noticed Carson staring at him in frustration and agitation.

Within moments, the physician was sitting beside him, hunched over and looking tired. Tuffs of white stuffing poked through torn gashes in his orange parka. No obvious signs of blood.

Rodney could only imagine the bruising that was hidden under layers of clothing.

"Where'd it go?" McKay asked, slowly pushing himself into a sitting position. He grimaced at the sudden explosive pain in his shoulder.

Carson merely pointed toward the tunnel to their left. McKay redirected the light to the tunnel, following the tracks that dragged themselves in that direction. The beast was nowhere to be seen.

Rodney wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not.

He turned his attention back to Beckett and scrutinized his friend.

The doctor looked fatigued and bruised. His shoulders drooped and his arms hung heavily off his bent knees. His chest seemed to work a little extra harder at dragging in air.

"Can you see?" Rodney asked. "Because your eyes still look terrible."

Snow blindness normally corrected itself within a twenty-four hour time period if attended properly. They were a little shy of a full day but medicine didn't run by a strict clock. _Voodoo._

Beckett turned and stared straight at McKay, answering his question with the motion but nodding anyhow just for confirmation and wavering his hand in a 'so-so' fashion.

"It get you?" Rodney stared pointedly at Carson's torn parka. Ronon's stitches had held.

Beckett gently shook his head 'no'.

McKay nodded. The air was too thin to spark much conversation and the headache that drummed behind his eyes was slowing making itself known.

Rodney leaned against the wall of the cave and rubbed at his chest. He fished in his pocket and pulled out the bubble package of Tylenol. In the faint light created by their small flashlight, he tore open the package and downed the two gel caps.

Beckett leaned forward and gingerly stretched for the bare oxygen bottle that rested at his ankle. He rolled it with his fingertips until he could grab it and then sat back and showed it to McKay.

Rodney recognized it as 'his' bottle and scrutinized the gage. There was still well over a half tank left. He looked back up at Beckett. "What?"

Carson depressed the pressure valve and no pressurized gas was emitted.

McKay pulled the tank out of Beckett's hand and read the gage again. It read nearly six hours of air left. He depressed the pressure valve and no air emitted.

"You think someone tampered with this?"

Beckett merely nodded.

"Corporal Jones?"

Carson shook his head and then rasped a three syllable name.

McKay stared at him and then asked, "McGilly?"

Beckett nodded.

"McGilly died. That snow yeti thing got him."

Carson cocked his head to the side and stared at Rodney as if he had lost his mind.

"Corn Yeti's cousin?---Oh forget it, you were so out of it last night, you wouldn't have known your own name," McKay dismissed. "We've got to find the others. Come on."

Rodney carefully pushed himself to his feet, feeling every muscle and tendon pull. It seemed ligaments were attached to every bruised bone in his body.

He leaned wearily against the wall, favoring his leg and rubbing at his shoulder. With a touch of impatience but a hint of concern, he watched as Beckett wearily shouldered their lone back pack.

"I can't carry that you know. My shoulder and leg. You have to." McKay felt obligated to point out.

Beckett looked up at him, after snapping the last buckle across his chest and smiled in understanding.

Rodney took some comfort in Carson actually looking directly at him.

McKay turned and took a limping step forward. He shuffled his way down the right tunnel away from whatever might dwell in the left.

Carson followed without need of being led physically by Rodney.

Maybe things were going to improve.

The silence was shattered by a thunderous howl. It rolled through the dark honeycomb of caverns, bouncing off walls and saturating the area with sound.

Or perhaps not.

-------------------------------

Sheppard planted his foot securely on a patch of bare stone, avoiding the ice that covered three quarters of it. He pivoted on his down leg and reached for Teyla. He guided the Athosian down and around a narrow hairpin turn in the trail. Wind gusted at her back, forcing her to step more quickly than her equilibrium allowed. Her steps were unsteady, her legs trembled. She returned Sheppard's grip with a tight one of her own.

With swirling vision, Teyla maneuvered around the switch back and waited.

Sheppard patted her shoulder as he shimmied by her on the narrow trail and once again picked up the lead.

Ronon followed, his steps confident and sure. He surveyed the sweeping ice plain below. Snow skiffed the ground in fierce linear channels. Sharp, angular drifts dotted the vast open area all pointing in the same southerly direction.

There was no sign of the doctors.

He logically knew they wouldn't be down there but couldn't help but hope to expect to see them.

Atlantis had given him many things and hope, at times, was one of the more fickle and cruel gifts.

The plain lay empty and recurring sense of loss stirred his gut.

He felt a biting and woefully familiar anger grow.

-------------------------------

McKay and Beckett stood at the entrance of the cave and stared out over the ice plain before them. Carson kept his head tucked and his hands up trying his best to shield his rapidly blinking eyes.

The piercing sunlight seared his retinas and corneas.

"I think the gate is…." McKay gazed left and right, "in that direction."

Carson rasped a question.

"I don't know," McKay answered. "Maybe they're already at the gate."

Beckett furrowed his brow and stared at Rodney as if he had lost his mind. After a moment, the medical doctor shook his head in resignation.

Rodney ignored him for a moment and continued to stare out at the dazzling field of ice and snow. After a moment he stated, "We have to do something about your eyes." McKay turned and stared at Carson for a bit and then added, "Sit down and I'll wrap them."

Carson contemplated his friend. Trusting Rodney with anything medical railed against every ounce of common sense Carson's dear ole mum imparted to him. Beckett could not deny that his eyes incessantly burned and itched madly. Tears streamed relentlessly from the corners, freezing and cracking already dry skin. Delicate ice crystals highlighted deepening crows feet.

The stark brilliance of reflected sunlight forced his eyes to spasm closed.

Carson would have to rely on Rodney to lead them to the gate. The reliance was not the problem if truth be told, it was not being able to help that was bothersome. Nothing could be done about it.

His eyes needed protection. McKay was volunteering.

There would be little lost, other than his dignity, if he let McKay cover his eyes. There was the unfortunate side effect of listening to Rodney crow about how medicine was simply an art and a pseudoscience that any trained monkey could master if given enough time.

Maybe he should just wrap his own eyes. In doing that, there was no guarantee that Rodney would remain silent. In fact, it almost seemed a given that McKay would offer unsolicited advice and take over the job himself.

It was a lose-lose situation when Beckett thought about it.

Carson's silent musings were interrupted with the impatient, rapid staccato of snapping fingers.

The man was infuriating.

With a sigh of resignation, Beckett slipped off the backpack with a groan and settled to the sandy ground beside it.

"Keep still," McKay ordered as he opened the backpack.

-------------------------------

Teyla stutter stepped as a gust of wind shoved her forward. Her balance faltered as her booted toe hooked an unseen rock. She flailed forward into Sheppard.

The colonel pivoted on the ball of his right foot, trying to plant his left securely onto another grey bald faced rock. His weight was unevenly distributed. A gust of wind rammed into him, tilting his center of balance backward, arching the small of his back toward his stomach and forcing his shoulders in the direction of the ground. He threw his arms out to recapture his failing balance.

Teyla's unsteady form lurched into him. Her dropped shoulder connected solidly with his exposed midsection. What little traction he had on the ridge trail disappeared.

He waved his arms flashing out with his hands for anything to latch onto.

Teyla stumbled by him, just out of reach and tripped again and crashed to the trail. Her hands, palm down, shot over the edge of the trail, plunging her shoulders and head from sight.

Ronon lunged forward, grabbing the back of Teyla's parka, hauling the smaller woman back onto the path. Dex whipped and arm around, trying to make a grab for the Colonel. The tips of their mittens brushed one another.

Grasping empty air, arms wind milling, Sheppard fell backward.

He disappeared from sight.

-------------------------------

"Run, Carson! Run!" McKay hollered over the whine of the wind. The astrophysicist turned and grabbed the chest strap of Beckett's back pack and hauled the medical doctor forward.

The rope tether that connected them at the waist looped between them.

The Snow Yeti silhouette slowly took shape through the blowing snow. It lumbered after them a few hundred yards behind, cutting off their retreat back to the caves.

"Aye," Carson muttered, breathlessly. He slipped the bandages up off his eyes. Snow blindness or not, it would never get a chance to heal if they didn't make the gate. The gauze squares that slipped free were captured by the crosswind and turned loose.

There wasn't much to see, but for now Beckett could discern small shadows and roughened terrain and place a foot accordingly. With the bandages gone, his speed picked up. For a few yards or more.

Sun reflected sharply off the brilliant white. Carson's eyes spasmed closed and tears were whipped from the corner of his creased eyes by sharp wind. His ability to discern depth quickly slipped away.

The two scientists pushed and urged one another onward across the snowfield.

Everything was a blur of white to Beckett. His feet stuttered and tripped over the slight unevenness of the icy terrain. His gait suffered without the unconscious input from his eyes. Visual information was not translated by his CNS to his peripheral nervous system. His eyes remained reflexively closed. He ran blind.

His left leg stretched forward, his muscles and joints and mind pictured where the ground should be. His foot fell a little further, searching for the surface. He hadn't noted the slight dip in the ice.

Carson staggered. His stride faltered. He pitched forward, his right foot shooting out to recapture his balance. Speed was lost. He banged into Rodney, knocking him to the left.

A bullet kicked up snow just to their right.

"Faster, Carson! Faster!" McKay directed. He snapped a quick look over his shoulder and saw a lone orange coated figure flanking them just as distant as the creature. _Jones or Holmes or Colmbs from Ohio or Iowa or Idaho or some such nonsense. _

Snow and ice divoted the ground just to the side of Rodney as another bullet dug in. It sent his heart racing. "Carson! Move it!"

"Aye," Carson muttered again with a bit more ire. _As if he was trying to run slower_.

Beckett ducked, shying at the whistle of a spiraling bullet and bounced his shoulder, blindly into McKay.

A bullet burrowed into the ground just to their left.

"Carson! Move your slow ass!" McKay shouted and roughly shoved Carson forward.

"Aye," Beckett rasped. _If they survived this, he'd kill Rodney with his own hands._


	9. Swim,Yeti! Swim! Faster!

**Part 9**

"Sheppard!" Ronon lay on his belly across the trail with his legs bent, toes pinned to rocks on the far side. Teyla lay curled beside him with her eyes closed and a small puddle of iced over vomit by her hand.

The ex-runner stared over the ledge at the unmoving form that lay only ten or more feet from the trail. The icy ledge that saved Sheppard was narrow. It was too narrow for two men even at its widest point which was where the colonel lay sprawled on his back, legs and arms akimbo.

"Move it, Sheppard!" Ronon ordered.

It garnered sluggish motion from the colonel. A mittened hand flopped, a foot slid, his head rolled slightly. Nothing coordinated, but it herald life.

As he lay belly down on the narrow icy trail, Dex began unraveling climbing rope. He worked the line quickly through his mittened hands, stringing it down to the Colonel. Sheppard would grab for the rope even if Ronon had to go down there and convince him to do it.

The sudden, crack of echoing gunfire split the crisp air. _P-90_

Dex's head snapped up. He searched the surrounding empty snowfield that stretched below him.

From his far left, he watched as two diminutive figures broke free from the foot of the ridge line and run haphazardly across the ice. The two seemed to run in a concerted effort but then bump into one another and then run in slightly opposite directions before aligning together for a short distance and then rebounding off one another again.

McKay and Beckett. A hidden grin brightened Ronon's masked features.

Hope was often a good thing, too.

He had learned not to bank on the future but live in the now. Tomorrow was far away, today was here. He had hoped his friends had survived and they had. That was good enough for now. He'd worry about tomorrow when they survived today.

Dex grinned behind his neoprene mask as he watched the antics of the pair far below him. There were only two such un-glorious, mismatched pair in all the Pegasus Galaxy. _They were alive; such two unlikely characters that seemed to beat catastrophic odds time and time again. He hoped their luck never ran out. _

But Dex wasn't a dreamer. Luck did run dry. In this galaxy the numbers were stacked against them all, and it would only be a matter of time before one of them fell.

McKay and Beckett beat the odds for now and that was all that matter at the moment.

Ronon watched them for just a second. The two men below bumped into one another, staggered to the East and then stumbled to the West and then ran straight ahead.

Ronon stared after them confused by their tactic of evasion.

Both Beckett and McKay were often distracting and baffling.

They were not very fast.

Dex turned his attention away from the two scientists that zig-zagged across the ice far below him. He searched the surrounding field.

A second and third gunshot sounded. Echoes ricocheted off stretching wall of granite.

"Sheppard, McKay and Beckett are in trouble!"

Ronon swung his gaze to the two figures as they ran into one another again.

A veil of blowing snow kicked up. The two scientists were momentarily lost from sight.

The Runner searched the lower steppe searching for the threat.

Dex fingered his blaster. The precious weapon did not have the range to hit a mark at such a distance.

From the base of the ridge, where the two doctors had emerged, Dex watched with apprehension as the Snow Yeti lumbered into view.

A fourth shot sounded.

McKay and Beckett flinched into one another.

Dex followed the sound and there to the distant right of the Snow Yeti stepped a fourth figure, dressed in bright orange.

Ronon turned his attention back to Sheppard. The Colonel swiped lazily at the rope that dangled just above him.

"Sheppard!" He urged.

Another crack of P-90 weapon rolled along the granite cliffs.

Dex watched as the silhouette of the two doctors finally found a rhythm and headed in the general direction of the gate. The snow yeti trailed 100 yards or more behind them flanking them from the right, followed by the figure in orange with a P-90.

Corporal Jones.

"Sheppard! Move!!" Dex hollered. He stole a glance back down at the colonel. The rope swayed with each uncoordinated pass the colonel made at it.

Ronon ground his teeth. He watched as the two doctors tripped and staggered their way further onto the ice, the creature lumbering behind them slowly closing the distance and Corporal Jones with his P-90 trailing even further behind.

"Sheppard! Grab the rope!" The Satedan shouted again infusing more urgency.

The colonel appeared incapable of synchronizing his movements.

Ronon pounded his fist into the snow in frustration. "Grab the rope, Sheppard!"

Leave it to McKay and Beckett to find trouble on an abandoned ice planet.

-------------------------------

Sheppard heard Ronon yell. Recognized the urgency in the tone. It seemed important.

He felt something slap against his hood and then lay across his face. He blinked his eyes open as something as thick as a garter snake slithered across his goggles. He flinched slightly, moving a hand, hoping to wipe the snake away from his face.

It slapped against his hood. He heard someone shout for him, shouted for him to move, grab the rope.

_Not a snake. A rope._ He raised his hand and let it fall across his face. It hurt. Under the thick insulation of his mitten his could feel the rope move and wiggle.

"McKay and Beckett are in trouble!"

_There's a news flash. _ Sheppard blinked, trying to focus the sheet of orangey yellow above him. He concentrated on it, trying to reason what he was staring at.

The rope coiled over his face again, momentarily blocking his view. He blinked, focused again and realized he stared at blue sky through tinted lenses.

_Wraith Worshippers._ Sheppard groaned.

_An explosion._ His head ached as the sun beat down on him.

_Teyla. _ They had to find Rodney and Carson. He made a grab for the slowly moving rope that coiled on his chest.

"Sheppard! Hurry!" Ronon sounded angry, desperate.

Sheppard pulled on the rope, using it as leverage to help himself sit up. Vertigo hit him like sack of sand to the side of the head and he tipped sideways. His grip on the rope tightened as his right hand attempted to brace the ground, but finding only empty air. Wind whistled over and around him, buffeting him.

"Tie the rope around you!"

Sheppard fumbled with the line, but educated hands, conditioned to working blindly, secured the rope. Once the knot was finished he simply raised a hand and offered a thumbs up.

The wind knocked his hand back and forth.

Within seconds, the rope cinched painfully tight around his chest severely restricting his ability to take a breath. He felt himself get hauled up off his narrow ledge. The line bit through his parka, layers of clothing and bunched under his arms. The rope stretched up past his collarbone and jaw, pinching and bruising the bones. His feet slowly left the ground and wind twirled him in tight circles occasionally bouncing him into the rock face. The rope cinched around his chest, constricting it, threatening to smother him. Inch by painful inch, seconds crawled by, he was dragged up along the rock and ice.

He couldn't draw a purposeful breath. Panic began to settle in.

The sharp explosive crack of P-90 fire below caused his heart to race.

McKay and Beckett were trouble. _Nothing new, but not good, either._

He smirked to himself…._least they were alive_.

-------------------------------

"Carson!" McKay shouted and nudged Beckett slightly to the left. The tether between them tightened. Rodney ignored the pressure and kept running, pulling Beckett in a new direction.

The ice was a different shade. Something wasn't right, something changed and Rodney couldn't believe that it would be for the good.

The Snow Yeti trailed behind, closing the distance with a lumbering, lazy gait. Its thunderous foot falls vibrated along the ice.

Watery shadows moved just under their feet.

McKay whimpered, "Not good…so not good."

The firing of a P-90 cracked somewhere behind them. Almost instantly, snow and ice kicked up just to the side of McKay's right boot.

Water bubbled forth.

"Carson!" Rodney hollered breathlessly.

"Aye?" Beckett's response was nothing more than a labored exhale. Anything that required formed syllables and interrupted breathing was discarded. Aye would have to do.

"The ice." Rodney fought for breath. The thin air was crisp and brittle. His lungs burned. The sloshing of water from the tiny projectile hole made his heart race. "Off the ice!" McKay shoved Carson to the left, angling them around toward the north.

Beckett merely dipped his head. The ice sounded different under his footfalls. It gave a little more with each heavy stride. It reminded Carson of stepping on a floating pier at high tide.

The doctors ran the best they could in heavy gear and lashed together by their tether. They fell into an uneasy rhythm with Rodney a step ahead, leading the way with his sight and uncanny sense of direction.

The frightening sound of crashing ice and splashing water erupted behind them.

McKay swiveled around, peering over his shoulder. He stutter stepped, the toe of his right boot kicking the side of his left lower leg. He flailed his arms latching onto Beckett's coat, regaining his balance and knocking the physician to the right.

They bumped into one another. McKay pushed Carson back on course.

McKay stepped heavily onto his right leg. Pain spiraled up the bone and shocked his knee. He gasped, closing his eyes briefly.

Behind them, no more than a few hundred yards, the Snow Yeti crashed through the ice. Water erupted forth, freezing almost immediately when caught in the wind. The thicker ice crystals pelted the two scientists who stood down wind.

The creature roared, flailing briefly in the narrow expanse of broken ice and exposed water. The sound crashed down around the two scientists forcing them to put hands over their ears and curl away.

McKay straightened, guiding Beckett up. They watched the creature struggle for just a bit before disappearing through the hole in the ice. Rodney tried to ignore the fact Carson stared in the wrong direction.

It was unnerving.

He pushed Beckett forward, away and to the north of the failing creature.

Sharp gusts of wind swirled snow into the air. Visibility was diminished to just a few feet.

The P-90 fire mysteriously stopped.

-------------------------------

Ronon struggled with Teyla's limp weight across his shoulders. The extra weight had him placing each foot more carefully on the narrow icy trail.

Dex didn't like careful, it could get someone killed.

Before him, Sheppard staggered and weaved on the tight path, maintaining just enough balance to keep his feet from slipping over the sharp edge.

Dex stared past the Colonel's shoulder and tried to keep the trio of forms on the ice shelf in view.

With each passing moment, McKay managed to put more distance between himself and Beckett and their pursuers…and his team.

"Move faster, Sheppard," Ronon urged.

-------------------------------

"Colonel Sheppard?" Bishop's voice sounded over McKay's radio, shocking the scientist into a cross step. "Doctor McKay?" The Captain's commanding tone sounded like an angel's voice to the astrophysicist.

"Captain!" McKay shouted. His voice sounded weak. He fought desperately for breath, dragging in deep, draughts of brittle air. His chest heaved with exhausting effort. The neoprene mask that protected his face from the sun threatened to smother him.

Beckett staggered into him, jostling his injured shoulder. Rodney shoved him back.

The two men continued to jog in the general direction of the gate.

Every foot placement of McKay's right leg shot fiery bolts of pain up along his tibia and fibula. An ache settled in his calf muscles. His knee became a reservoir for the spiraling pain that traversed upward from his lower leg.

P-90 fire no longer dogged their heels, but the lone figure in orange, still tracked them relentlessly. Occasional brutal gusts of whipped snow obscured them from view, camouflaged them a wall of swirling snow.

"Doctor McKay, what is your position?" Bishop sounded calm but tense, alert and ready for danger. "Where is Colonel Sheppard?"

"South….we're South of you." McKay fought for air. Every labored breath seared his chest, burning it with frosted air.

"Doctor McKay?"

Rodney ignored the voice. Through the veil of blowing snow, he could make out a knot of men in dark winter wear. He angled Beckett to the left again.

Their heavily treaded boots crunched and squeaked with each labored footfall.

Watery shadows swelled just below the crust of ice.

Rodney's legs felt leaden. He could feel every flexion and contraction of his quads. He never realized his knees could ache so badly, the bottom of his feet knot so intensely or his calves tighten so relentlessly.

His right leg felt afire.

This was the reason why Ancients developed puddle jumpers, people from earth drove cars, or used some sort of transportation other than ones own feet. Self mobilization was painful.

Running was agony, only a fool would do it for fun.

McKay pulled Beckett along, listening as his friend fought for each breath, felt him stumble with increasing frequency. No neoprene protected Carson's lower face. He ran open mouth and McKay feared his friend would have burns on the roof of his mouth.

Reflected sunlight was painfully damaging.

The wind relented. Sun glared down, arcing sharply off the snow. Even with protected goggles, McKay raised a mittened hand to shield his eyes from the sharp solar glare.

"Captain," Rodney tried to shout, but the brittle thin air muffled his attempts. "Your left." He panted. "We're to your left."

McKay forced himself to continue running, to lift his feet one more time, bend a knee and drag his leg forward. Muscles and bone alike protested hotly.

His hip thrummed with abuse brought about by a hitched gait.

_Running was for fools and he was far from foolish. _

Running had some acceptable qualities, McKay had to concede. Not that he ever intended to call it enjoyable, or do it for entertainment purposes or to 'burn time'. But he did recognize the importance in being able to move faster than a brisk walk for a sustainable amount of time.

Running had its place. It certainly wasn't in his labs. Or in his previous life back on Earth. However, it did have its uses here in the Pegasus Galaxy. He could run, had improved in his ability to sustain a jog, and would readily admit he'd never break speed records or reach levels of legendary endurance.

But when push came to shove, Rodney McKay could run with the best of them. If a puddle jumper wasn't readily available, or if a Wraith or Wraiths were on their tail, or Genii gunning for them, or an ill tempered Snow Yeti, Rodney McKay could maintain a pace for whatever distance or time was needed to assure self preservation.

Rodney was no fool.

Besides if his heart truly did rupture in his chest from exertion, or his lungs did actually burst into flames, Rodney had no doubt in his mind that Carson could fix it. Probably with a lot of hemming and hawing, but Carson was pretty good at manipulating the voodoo.

Yes, Rodney McKay could run. He just didn't embrace it with the same level of psychosis as say---the military. He could do it but he loathed having to do it.

Not only did his life depend on his ability to run, but so did Carson's and probably more likely than not, so did Sheppard, Dex and Teyla. Well maybe not Teyla, she was amazingly self sufficient, but the other two. The other two would undoubtedly need saving---by him.

He couldn't save them if he couldn't run. And he didn't have to be the fastest; he just had to be faster than the Abominable Snowman and a bullet.

_No hardship there. Not at all. Faster than a speeding bullet… No pressure. None at all. _

Rodney needed to keep moving. He dropped his chin to his chest and fought for a little more strength. _Endurance wouldn't hurt either._

Beckett followed mutely but by no means quietly. Carson's harsh labored breathing sounded wet and constricted. His foot falls stuttered and scraped more times than actually land solidly. The swish of synthetic fabric was lost in the whistle of wind.

The ice plain stretched before them, unevenness only perceived through shallow shadows and breaks in sharp drifting banks of snow.

The third SGA team seemed no more than dark dots far off and not getting any closer.

The plain of ice felt vast. A frozen sea of blinding white broken only by brutal gusts of violent wind stretched before them.

A monstrous dark shadow moved under the ice, sliding from under their pounding feet, traveling in a stream line fashion just before the two doctors.

"Oh no," McKay muttered.

Suddenly the ice erupted just a few feet in front of them.

McKay slapped his arms out wide, slapping Carson in the chest with his forearm, trying to halt and protect Beckett.

Both men skidded forward.

The Snow Yeti burst up from the surface. Teeth and claws bared with furred arms raised over its head.

Chunks of ice and a violent spray of water cascaded into the air and enveloped the two doctors.

Muscles conditioned to moving forward and too tired to stop, barreled forward off the suddenly slick ice, and over the jagged newly formed ridge and into the darkened water.

McKay fell belly first.

The splash of water burned his face like stovetop. Through his own underwater screams, he heard the creature's fantastic roar. The water vibrated with the sound. Then the solid weight of Beckett landed on Rodney's back forcing the astrophysicist even deeper under the dark water.

McKay could hear himself scream as bubbles rushed past.

Panic seized him as glacial water bordered into the realm of fiery heat. Nerve endings and skin so shocked lost the ability to distinguish cold from hot. Pain enveloped him as surely as the water engulfed him.

Rodney slid further from the surface. Frigid cold water embraced him like millions of electrified needles. His body became momentarily shocked into not moving as icy water burned his skin.

Air was crushed from his lungs. His heart fluttered, paused, skipped a beat and then resumed a frantic pace.

The paralysis was only momentary. A rush of bubbles and muffled roars surrounded him.

Then McKay fought. He struggled and strove with the same singular focus that made him famous and infamous amongst the expedition members.

The water moved violently, sloshing in all directions, buffeting him, pushing and pulling, raising him up and shoving him down.

The creature swiped its great arms through the water, batting blindly for its prey. It's massive paw caught the body of the tether and dragged the men backward with crushing force.

The rope became slack. The Yeti pawed again, splashing the water, creating swirling currents and a curtain of bubbles.

Rodney struggled for the surface, fighting the drag of his sodden clothes and sudden deadly weight of his boots.

He could feel Beckett flailing beside him.

Rodney clawed toward the bright surface, hoping to break free to the light of day.

The rope at his waist suddenly cinched tight and drew him away from the surface, dragging him deeper into the dark water. It lacked the frightful strength of the Yeti.

Beckett was swimming and struggling in the wrong direction.

Rodney yanked on the rope, desperate and terrified. His lungs burned with an intensity that could not be ignored. He would be forced to take a breath soon, whether he made the surface or not. Icy water stung exposed skin and his winter clothing hung on him like hundreds of pounds of dead weight. Sand bags.

He kicked wildly, but systematically. He clawed for the surface, fighting the lethargy that drenched his muscles.

Surely his lungs would burst.

McKay broke the surface with a heaving open mouth gasp. The thin layer of newly formed ice easily gave way. Rodney slapped a leaden arm up on the edge of the jagged hole. It was a feeble anchor at best. His second arm flopped beside the first. Plumes of crystallized breath disappeared under in the relentless wind.

Crystalline snow covered his eyebrows and lashes. His day old beard sparkled with ice.

A weight still tugged at his waist, slowing dragging him back under the surface. He tried kicking his legs, but the frigid temperatures stripped his body of warmth and strength.

The water encased him like wet concrete.

_He could run, but swimming really was a fool's endeavor. He had feet to run, but no gills or webbing to swim_. _There was a reason for outboard and inboard motors and boats._

Rodney couldn't force his legs to move.

Thin ice formed over his coated arms, his mittens glistened and reflected sunlight as they froze. Icy water lapped up over his slowly retreating shoulders, the added weight patiently forced him back deeper into the blackened water.

His ragged breaths crystallized in short ballooning plumes, turning his panic into a visual show.

His goggles frosted over. He couldn't see. Water sliced at his neck, squeezing his head creating intense pain.

P-90 fire sprayed the area with its staccato tell-tale sound.

Suddenly hands were reaching for him, tugging at him, trying to haul him from the water.

He had nothing left to help. As desperate as he was to aid with his own rescue, his muscles remained unresponsive and useless. He apparently couldn't even find the coordination to shiver.

Voices, urgent commands and shouts washed over him as he was pulled and tugged. Hands hauled his upper body up onto the ice. Biting, pinching pressure on his waist anchored him close to the surface, resistant to the hands that worked to draw him completely free of the water.

Suddenly the pressure was gone. Rodney was dragged completely from the water and sprawled onto the ice. He found himself lying belly down unable to focus on anything but the thin uneven crust of frost on his goggles.

He couldn't move, couldn't feel a thing, and yet he knew he hurt, hurt worse than he had in a very long time.

Through a small crack in his protective eyewear he could see the cut end of the tether that kept him connected to Carson.

"Carson?" he whispered despondently.

His quiet cry was drowned by the sudden re-appearance of the Snow Yeti and then repeated multiple P-90 firing and shouted orders.

Tinny voices rang over his radio. McKay never registered it. He didn't feel the cold or blistering wind, didn't listen to the voices that shouted all around him.

His vision, narrowed by the icing of his goggles, and the simple break in the lens afforded him only a splintered view of his world.

He focused on the knife cut rope. The tiny frayed ends wavered in the wind, thickening minutely with ice.

Rodney ignored the stark white snow beneath him. He felt no relief at the occasional flash of bright green of the new SGA team or the multitude of legs and boots or the tumbling of smoking, empty shells from unseen firing weapons.

He stared at the wet, severed rope.

"Carson," he whispered as gunfire and voices sounded all around him.

'


	10. Scooby Snacks

**Part 10**

"Sheppard, move." Ronon urged the Colonel forward another step. Dex tossed his shoulders upward slightly, raising Teyla's form into the air and freeing his shoulders of the pinching pressure of her solid weight.

The Runner took a hold of the Colonel's upper arm and directed him across the open ice. Sheppard attempted to twist his arm free to no avail. The colonel staggered a few steps, weaved a little to the left, over compensated to the right and finally stumbled onto a parallel path with Ronon.

Through the blowing snow, Dex could just make out the details of Captain Bishop's team.

They were green. A bright, unnatural green. Dr. Weir sent another team. A green team.

The Atlantean's did like their colors.

A few marines noticed his approach and jogged toward him.

"Sirs," a young marine stated smartly.

Ronon stared at the two young soldiers and then at the commotion behind them. A trio of marines kept their weapons aimed at the blackish water that lapped the edges of the ice. Two more worked over an ice crusted McKay who lay unnaturally still. Still two more tried to approach Beckett who lay curled on the ice, shivering within the confines of his torn parka. He fended off the intruders with dogged kicks and heavily, lashing feet. Though sluggishly slow, his kicks were effective.

"The Snow Yeti?" Ronon asked.

"Back under the water, sir," the marine paused and then added, "It tried to eat Doctor Beckett."

Sheppard merely grunted and wobbled in place, "He's like a walking Scooby Snack."

Dex shot the Colonel a questioning look.

The young marine gazed to his partner and then back at the ex-runner, "Sir, is there anyone else with you?" The marine peered passed Ronon and into the ice field hoping to see more of the original off world team.

"We're it," Ronon simply stated, keeping his eye on the rippling surface of the water with McKay and Beckett in his peripheral vision.

Dex allowed the marines to help guide their commanding officer toward the others but kept Teyla on his shoulders with an ankle and wrist clasped in one hand.

The mismatched group slowly closed the distance to the broken ice and Captain Bishop and his team.

Large blotches of discolored orange snow splashed the immediate area surrounding the hole in the ice. A thick wide path of orange disappeared over the edge and into the agitated darkened waters below. A thin film of clear ice already frosted the surface.

The M-5's had found their mark. The Snow Yeti, however, had made its escape, perhaps to drown under the ice. Dex didn't believe such a powerful creature would go so quietly.

Ronon slowly turned his gaze from the black waters to the knot of people that skirted the water's edge just a few feet from him.

Beckett struggled feebly within the grip of two marines. The Scot seemed to be holding his own, however, he was not constrained with the fear of injuring his opponents. The marines did their best to capture and restrain without invoking further injury on their target.

They were losing.

Ronon often found that 'nice guys' really did finish last---or limped away with the most bruises, or snapped bones.

The marines shouted at Beckett and tried to reason with him to no avail.

"He can't hear again," Ronon stated.

The Marine followed the Satedan's gaze. "That Snow Yeti had a mighty powerful roar and it had Doctor Beckett by the hood, sir. Doctors Beckett and McKay were tethered together." The yeti had Beckett half out of the water clenched in its teeth, shaking him like a ragdoll. Rodney was kept from clearing the water's surface due to the tether.

If Captain Bishop had not rushed forward and sliced the rope then surely Doctor McKay would have been lost. A few well placed M-5 rounds saw Beckett being dropped like a stone onto the ice. A very fortuitous and welcomed move for all involved.

The Snow Yeti slipped under the water's surface and disappeared.

Near the edge of the water, Beckett once again displayed a fierce scrappiness. Ronon had nodded in satisfaction, not displeased with the vigor in which the doctor struggled to survive. Even if said struggles were blind, muted and focused at helping hands. Dex had made a comment to Sheppard long ago about how to tap into such tenacious strength and get Beckett into training sessions. Sheppard had at that time told Ronon that it was a typical trait found in the indigenous people where Beckett came from. Ronon would one day like a chance to visit such a place.

"Sheppard?" Ronon nudged the colonel and directed his gaze toward Beckett who managed to land a solid kick against a young marine's shin with his boot.

The young marine gave ground, hopping on one leg and cursing with enough vehemence to rival a veteran sailor.

"Go ahead," Sheppard mumbled. His head ached abominably, almost as badly as his shoulder blades. His stomach gurgled and shifted with building unrest. He didn't have the stamina or fortitude to deal with another unnecessary battle.

Ronon slid his gun from his holster, spun it on his gloved finger and squeezed the trigger.

The red bolt of energy sliced through the brittle air and enveloped the CMO. Beckett's back arched, shoulders tightened and he crumpled to the side, unmoving.

P-90's flashed into gloved hands as marines spun around to face the approaching five. Ronon simply twirled his gun again and seamlessly holstered it.

"Should have done it the first time," Ronon stated in a 'told you so' manner.

"Probably," Sheppard mumbled and teetered slightly into the young private at his side.

"Are you alright, Colonel?" The young marine on the left asked. He had a strange accentless voice Sheppard couldn't place.

"Dandy," the colonel muttered. He then asked, "Where you from? Davis? It's Davis right?"

"Yes, sir. And I'm from Ohio, sir, Dayton."

Sheppard nodded thoughtfully. "You ever hear of the Corn Yeti?"

"Iowa, Sir," Davis answered with a hint of disgust and frustration, "That's Iowa, not Ohio." Davis couldn't understand why people continuously confused Ohio with Iowa and Idaho. Idaho was almost excusable, it had some pretty parts. _But Iowa?_ Some people just weren't too bright. _Iowa, indeed_. Davis almost felt insulted. But then looking at his C.O., Colonel Sheppard wasn't running on all cylinders so to speak.

Dex ignored the conversation between Sheppard and Davis. Iowa seemed an inhospitable place and not a thing to ponder.

Ronon's searching gaze found Corporal Jones, standing to the side, flanked by fellow marines. The Runner's gun was in his hand and aimed at the corporal before anyone could react.

Teyla's weight across his shoulders didn't seem to hinder his speed. Sheppard wondered how much of Ronon's ability was natural, how much was Satedan training, and how much was fine tuned from life as a runner.

Jones backpedaled with hands in the air.

"Ronon," Sheppard warned.

"He was shooting at the Docs."

"That monster was after them," Jones stammered. "I was shooting at it!" the corporal pleaded his case.

Ronon kept gun steady, aimed squarely at the Corporal's chest. "You're a bad shot."

"Colonel Sheppard?" Captain Bishop asked with a hint of tight concern in his voice. Specialist Dex just stunned their CMO without warning, and Ronon considered Beckett a friend. The animosity the Runner displayed toward Jones at the moment didn't bode well for the young corporal.

The Captain wouldn't allow a fellow marine to fall to 'friendly' fire.

The young marines stood in tense silence waiting for orders. Dex was a member of SGA-1, but he was still a foreigner. Jones was new, but one of them, a marine.

Loyalties were greyed at best.

"Ronon, knock it off," Sheppard ordered tiredly. "We'll get this mess straightened out back in Atlantis."

Dex slowly holstered his gun but kept his stare transfixed on the young corporal from Iowa.

"Let them help Teyla," Sheppard quietly ordered. He managed to lift his head and focus on the two groups that squatted huddled over McKay and Beckett. A building pile of iced clothing and boots began to slowly grow adjacent to the two stretchers.

-------------------------------

Two hours later found the colorful mish-mash of off world teams congealed before the DHD and stargate. Brilliant orange, red and green parkas were muted by small abrasive pellets of ice. Wind swirled snow at shin height and buffeted hoods.

Captain Bishop radioed Atlantis.

Ronon stood beside Sheppard who started to flag somewhat after his second wind lost its grip. The colonel stood with his shoulders bowed and forehead resting in his mittened palm.

Teyla, McKay and Beckett were cocooned in blankets hidden beneath sleeping bags that engulfed them from tip of toes and up, over hatted heads. They were secured to stretchers with oxygen masks covering their faces. No skin was left exposed to the weather.

White medicated bandages, once again covered Beckett's eyes. The CMO struggled sluggishly and mutely within the confines of the stretcher.

Ronon warned them against setting the doctor free. The laceration and bruise that edged out from under the Satedan's hat foretold a suggestion based on experience.

Corporal Jones sat to the side, weaponless but unbound.

Captain Bishop stood off to the side speaking into his radio. "Doctor Weir, we have recovered SGA-1, Doctor. Beckett and Corporal Jones. Corporal Jones is saying something about Wraith Worshippers." Bishop looked up and acknowledged Ronon. "We'll need medical standing by." There was a pause and Bishop looked to Dex.

Ronon ignored him and stared at Jones.

The young soldier from Iowa cowered back from the gaze.

"It is unclear, ma'am. Corporal Jones was firing in the direction of Doctors Beckett and McKay, but also the Abominable Snowman."

There was a slight pause and then a nod from Bishop.

"Yes ma'am, Abominable Snowman."

"Snow Yeti," Ronon corrected. "Like the Corn Yeti of your world." The Satedan further explained.

Bishop gave him a confused and questioning look but nodded with an air of appeasement.

"Ronon calls it a Snow Yeti, ma'am." Bishop stated. He sighed and then added, "Yes, ma'am, you are correct it _is_ apparently similar to the Corn Yeti of Iowa." The captain shook his head, trying to clear his confusion. "We're sending them through now ma'am."


	11. Who's who

**Part 11**

Once through the gate, the embarkation room fell into controlled chaos.

Dr. Weir waited quietly, watching the commotion play out before her.

Colonel Sheppard moved as if his back and head were made of delicate glass. He weaved delicately in through the medical teams, avoiding their touch.

Three stretches lay in an arc before the gate.

"Carson, quit moving," Rodney's disembodied voice came from the stretcher in the middle.

The one to the left rocked a bit. _Carson,_ Weir mused.

Doctor Beckett wiggled and twisted. He finally rasped something inarticulate frustration and a hint of short temper laced the sounds. He lifted a shoulder abruptly in an attempt to loosen the straps that secured him.

"Yes, Carson, we are finally back in Atlantis," Rodney answered tired from his stretcher.

Doctor Weir furrowed her brow and tilted her head at McKay's response.

Beckett continued to wiggle and tried kicking his trapped feet free. He rasped something again.

"Yes! Carson! Atlantis! We're! On! Atlantis!" Rodney shouted.

Medical personal as well as military paused in their work and stared at the two stretches.

One continued to slightly move.

Beckett tried tossing his weight to the left and then the right. The stretcher merely scratched against the floor.

"He can't hear you, McKay," Ronon said. Dex reached out and grabbed Sheppard who tried to stagger down the three steps and away from the working medical teams. Ronon noticed the medics avoided their boss's stretcher and focused on the more compliant patients. Teyla and at the moment McKay.

Beckett rasped again and tried tossing himself to the right first and then the left. He gained very little freedom. Once again he loudly hissed an inarticulate string of sounds.

"Then why's he keep asking about where we are?" Rodney impatience was tempered with the incessant pain in his legs and shoulder.

The others in the embarkation room stared at one another, waiting for someone to dare correct Doctor McKay.

"I think sir, he's saying he wants loose," a soldier from Germany stated.

"What? You got that from….that?" McKay tried to turn his head to stare at Beckett some where to his left.

Carson rasped again, infusing a little more anger than frustration and tried to wrestle himself into a sitting position. The straps held true. He rasped again, more red faced than was probably good for him. He fell back within the confines of his blankets.

Ronon stood hip shot next to Sheppard and nodded. "Yeah, McKay he says wants someone to let him loose."

McKay settled back into his sleeping bag, content to be warm. "Really? You really think so?"

A series of 'yes's and 'yeahs' floated around the room.

"Oh." McKay closed his eyes.

Medics began packing away their supplies and directed stretches toward the infirmary.

Dex had his hands full with Colonel Sheppard. The small group slowly made their way from the embarkation room.

Captain Bishop dismissed his men.

Jones was already gone.

-------------------------------

Hours later found SGA-1 still confined to the infirmary.

The place was a hive of activity. Beckett sat on the edge of an infirmary bed, draped in a heated white blanket. He occasionally banged a hand against the bedrail. He'd flex his fingers and then banged the back of his heel against the side of the bed. Metal scratched against metal.

Ronon found the sound irritating. He watched for a moment before deciding the doctor was testing the extent of the pins and needles that were the lingering effect of the stun blast.

A shot Dex had no plans to apologize for.

The Satedan cringed when Beckett slammed his heel into his bed frame again and metal creaked against metal with a spine twisting sound.

Ronon fingered his blaster. If Carson kept it up he'd find himself testing the effects of second stun blast sooner rather than later.

Beckett's eyes remained wrapped, ensconced in fresh medication and bandages. His staff had run him through scanner after scanner. They had hemmed and hawed over images made of swirled color patterns and structures Ronon didn't begin to understand. In the end, the medical staff accepted Specialist Dex's pronouncement that the hearing loss and dizziness were the temporary side effects from the frightful Snow Yeti. In turn, the medical staff had assured the Satedan, Colonel Sheppard and Doctor Weir that the damage to Carson's eyes and throat, though painful and inconveniencing, were temporary.

Fair enough.

McKay flirted with the conscious world. Scans indicated he had deep muscle and bone bruising to his lower leg and shoulder. The lateral collateral ligament of McKay's right knee was strained at its insertion. His ankle was badly swollen and bruised, sprained. There had been trauma of some sort but without an obvious visual fracture. A possible hairline fracture to his collarbone may need further imaging. All were painful but nothing life threatening. A solid, heavy bruise encompassed his jaw, and from the pattern, it appeared to be caused by Beckett's boot. At some point Carson had kicked Rodney in the mouth. However, it did not explain the coup-countercoup type injury that appeared on the scans. Nor did it explain the cause for the neat row of stitches arched at the corner of his forehead.

Ronon supplied the tiny tidbit about the explosion and massive slide of tumbling rock. That had the doctors nodding with exaggerated care and drawn out 'ahhhs'. Rodney's multiple and spectacularly colorful bruises and soft tissue damages suddenly had an explanation.

Hypothermia and prolonged exposure to the cold had exhausted the man. Doused with pain medication and buried under freshly warmed blankets, McKay flirted haphazardly with the waking world.

Ronon was impressed with McKay's ability to not only remain on his feet back on the planet, but keep Beckett moving. The ex-runner would remain silent and keep his admirations to himself. He would push McKay harder the next time they were in trouble off world. The astrophysicist was not soft---well not as doughy as he appeared.

Ronon stood between Carson and Teyla's bed. Like McKay and Beckett, she was dressed in scrubs and tucked into a bed. An IV running fluids fed into the back of her fine boned hand. A moderate concussion would keep the Athosian off her feet for a few days. She too suffered the early stages of hypothermia. Teyla would be forced to endure the harassment of constant monitoring for the next twenty four hours.

Ronon felt a pang of sympathy for the Athosian.

Sheppard sat gingerly on the side of a bed, barefoot with ankles crossed, waiting with an air of forced impatience. Truthfully, the Colonel appeared as if he'd be happy to just tip sideways onto the bed and sleep for the next week. Butterfly sutures rimmed the corner of his forehead. The white tape stood out brilliantly against the deep maroons and blues that encompassed his black eye, compliments of Beckett only the day before. He avoided any major broken bones but his 'bell' had been rung, if Ronon had heard correctly. He wasn't familiar with the phrase but understood the context. Sheppard should be staying in the infirmary, but the staff had long ago given up fighting him.

The Colonel would be under Ronon's watchful eye tonight.

The Satedan looked to Beckett, who now poked at his face experimentally, testing the pins and needles. Ronon sighed and shook his head. Keeping a watchful eye on the physician would fall to him as well.

Carson was loved by his medical staff when he was acting CMO, healthy, and somewhat rested. When he was a patient, the Scot was eagerly dismissed to his quarters as soon as possible.

A calloused heel rattled the bed frame. Metal scraped metal.

Ronon gritted his teeth.

Tonight, Colonel Sheppard and Doctor Beckett would be released into Ronon's care.

Carson thudded his heel against the bed frame with more vigor. Metal screeched.

Special Dex was not pleased with the thought, but accepted the duty as a burden he must bear as a friend.

The Satedan's attention was diverted from thoughts of stunning Beckett into oblivion again with the approach of Doctor Morrison. "Specialist Dex."

Ronon grunted. If he stunned Beckett, the Scot would remain in the infirmary and it would be one less person to watch over.

"You are familiar with the drill for monitoring Colonel Sheppard?"

Dex grunted again. Beckett's heel smacked solidly with the bed frame. Metal squeaked with high pitch intensity.

People flinched.

Carson remained oblivious to the sound.

"Carson! Knock it off!" Sheppard hissed, rubbing at the side of his head.

Beckett swung his heels unaware of the displeasure around him. He rat-tattered his feet off the bed frame again.

"Damn it, Carson!" Sheppard ground out. The colonel, in an act of desperation, picked up a pillow and threw it at the Scot.

It missed.

Multiple, disappointed sighs echoed around the room.

Doctor Morrison growled quietly and briefly closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Doctor Beckett will only need assistance getting to his quarters and settled. We want them…" Morrison ground his teeth when Beckett slammed a heel into the bed frame again.

Metal shrieked.

Carson wiggled his toes. A smile brightened his face. Ronon figured the pins and needles were dissipating.

Sheppard reached for a metal basin. A nurse walked by and simply slipped it from his throwing hand and took it.

The surgeon sighed, "They both need to be rechecked come morning."

"You sure?"

The bed rattled again. Metal squealed. People not required in the area left.

"Unfortunately, yes." Morrison raised his head and stared at Dex. "Please, take them out of here."

"I'll take Sheppard first and then come back for the doc."

It wasn't what Morrison wanted to hear.

Another heel struck the bed. High pitched noise pierced the area. Both men stared at Beckett who smiled, obviously pleased with the resulting sensation running through his feet. He wiggled his toes, spreading them as well.

"Specialist Dex, take them both---Now."

-------------------------------

Specialist Dex, Captain Robinson and Major Lorne sat in the conference room with Doctor Weir. The debriefing was painfully longer than quick.

Ronon wasn't much of a conversationalist. He didn't speculate either. Doctor Weir wasn't one to give in and pursued alternate avenues of questioning.

Zelenka had been left to watch Sheppard, and Major Lorne had stationed a guard at Beckett's door and the infirmary. The business of homegrown Earthen Wraith worshippers possibly running lose on Atlantis still needed addressing.

-------------------------------

Rodney lay still in his infirmary bed enjoying the warmth and comfort of blankets and a mattress. Even the pillow felt beautiful. He drifted in a haze, partially awake but somewhat asleep. Pain medication kept him almost comfortable but discomfort lingered just enough to keep him from rest.

His aches warranted complaints, his exhaustion kept him silent.

McKay lay quietly with his eyes closed, listening to the sounds of the infirmary as it balanced between late night and early morning.

As he lay there, listening to assorted whispered voices, the infirmary door slid open. A nurse strode in carrying a small tray of snacks. Rodney caught sight of a young marine stationed at the entrance. The guard called to someone just out of Rodney's sight down the hall.

Rodney ignored them, following the tray of snacks feeling slightly disappointed by his lack of appetite.

His attention snapped back to the door when the soldier greeted the other. "Hey McGilly, how's it going?"

The doors slid shut.

-------------------------------

The debriefing mercifully ended. Tempers were shorter, frustration higher and eyes burned with fatigue.

Dr. Weir was dissatisfied with Ronon's one word answers and monosyllabic grunts.

Major Lorne was thinking of the next of kin his CO would have to write. He did not know the Marines that had been lost on this mission terribly well, with the exception of Wells. Wells had been a friend. McGilly and Jones were new to Atlantis. Lorne had done their orientation, placed them on teams and let the team leaders deal with 'breaking in' the new recruits.

With one team lost, he and Colonel Sheppard would have to re-think their policy.

Raw recruits should not have been doubled up on an off world team.

It was late by Earth standards when the truncated debriefing broke up. Atlantis ran on a '24 hour' cycle. Though the night crews were routinely quieter than the day, the nights on Atlantis remained just as busy. However, there was something about working nights that just seemed to exude a hushed silence.

That silence was suddenly broken by McKay's voice over radios. "Sheppard! Get someone to Carson! He's after Carson!"

"Rodney?" Sheppard's voice sounded tired over the radio. In the background, they could hear Radek muttering something in Czech and tapping on his laptop. "Rodney?" The colonel called again.

"He's here on Atlantis, McGilly or Jones or whoever! It doesn't matter! Get someone to, Carson!"

Major Lorne and Ronon Dex stared at one another for just a moment. Lorne tapped his radio and started issuing orders, mobilizing his men as he and Ronon sprinted for the stairs.

Ronon hurtled over the banister and took the stairs three at a time jumping down the last grouping. Lorne followed a few steps behind giving orders to restrain McGilly or Jones if found.

The Dex and Lorne bolted through sliding doors of the control room and sprinted toward Beckett's quarters.

The rare soul they met in the corridors flattened themselves to the hallway walls and watched the pair sprint pass.

After numerous turns, one too many stairwells and countless corridors, they finally turned into the hallway that held Carson's room.

No guard stood at the door.

Ronon unholstered his gun.

The two men approached Beckett's quarters and found McKay and Sheppard closing in from the opposite direction. Neither man looked steady on their feet. Zelenka trailed a step behind the duo tapping furiously on his tablet.

A security detailed trotted behind them, weapons ready, confident they could handle anything thrown at them. The thought that someone might have injured one of 'them', a fellow soldier, was irritating. The idea that someone might have hurt the Doc was just plain wrong.

A small splash of blood marred the door frame.

"Colonel?" Major Lorne called. The tension and unease was easily discernable.

Sheppard kept a steadying hand on McKay's upper arm and looked to Dex and Major Lorne.

"Why isn't there someone on the Doc's door?" Sheppard ground out.

Ronon raised his gun. Lorne unsnapped the safety strap on his holster and eased his .9 mm free.

"There was a guard," Dex answered.

Zelenka shuffled around the group and began working on Beckett's door controls. Rodney peered over his shoulder, swaying slightly and offering unsolicited 'assistance'.

"Sirs, please step back from the door." Lorne ordered.

"It was Jones," McKay stated, ignoring the major's request. "Jones is after Carson and me." He directed a delayed but angry glare at Lorne, "Why isn't anyone watching, Carson?"

"There was," Lorne returned tersely. The major gazed pointedly to the blood stain.

"Oh," McKay nodded. He turned his attention back to 'helping' Radek.

Zelenka merely nodded repeatedly and tapped away on his computer, doing his best to ignore the unsolicited advice.

"Open the damn door," Ronon snarled.

"Working on it," Zelenka muttered.

"Work faster," Ronon ordered quietly.

"Almost got it," Radek responded.

Sheppard stood flush to the wall, his .9mm primed and ready and merely nodded. His black eye appeared ghastly in the hall light.

"Ahh, here it is. Ready?" Zelenka asked quietly. People nodded and Sheppard whispered a "Go." Zelenka tapped the screen.

The door slid open.

The small group burst into the unlit quarters.

An unconscious and bloodied soldier lay just on the inside of the entrance.

-------------------------------

Beckett clothed in baggy green scrubs and bandaged eyes, shuffled hesitantly across his darkened quarters. He kept his hands out, oblivious to man in the shadows holding the knife.

Carson continued to shamble in the direction of his would be assailant, insensible to the sudden influx of people and weapons.

Jones spun around, surprised at the sudden intrusion. Light from the hallway illuminated his dark corner. He gripped a black handled knife. The spine of the blade lay parallel to his lateral forearm. Light from the corridor glinted off the metal. His hold on the knife was relaxed and professional. There was a confidence in the stance that Ronon, Sheppard and Lorne appreciated and respected.

This man knew how to use a blade.

Beckett continued his careful stutter steps, scuffing his bare feet across his floor, feeling his way across the room.

"Jones!" Sheppard snarled.

"Drop it, McGilly," Lorne ordered.

The marine ducked and skirted to the side around the CMO, as Ronon snapped his blaster up, aiming to fire. Jones snaked an arm up around Beckett's neck, spinning the doctor and snugging the Scot's head close to his own.

Beckett gasped and stumbled into Jones. He froze when the cold razor tip of the blade nestled quietly against his jugular furrow.

He gasped and rasped an inarticulate sound of surprise.

"That's Jones," McKay stated.

"It's McGilly," Lorne hissed.

"He's a dead man," Ronon clarified. The runner kept his arm straight, his aim unwavering and his intentions clear.

Beckett remained rooted, standing deathly still, his hands grasping tightly to the forearm that pressed against this trachea.

"You know you're not getting out of here alive," Sheppard intoned casually. He really disliked dramatics.

"I'll kill'im," Jones/McGilly's voice spoke of stark promise.

"What's in this for you, Corporal?" Sheppard asked. He skirted to the side trying to split the marine's attention.

"Private," Both Lorne and McGilly corrected.

"Dead man," Ronon clarified.

"Who cares?" Rodney pointed out.

"Colonel, get back with the others," Jones answered. The young marine sunk the tip of the blade into the taught skin of Beckett's neck. Dark crimson blood bubbled slowly onto the gleaming slightly curved blade.

Beckett hissed and tried to flinch away but the arm encircling his neck cinched tighter and pulled up higher, arching Beckett back and forcing him to the tip of bare toes.

"Ronon, stun them," The colonel ordered without a hint of concern. "Stun them both."

"You willing to risk Beckett's life? You willing to gamble I won't slice through his carotid?" Jones taunted.

Sheppard held up his hand stalling the ex-runner. He looked to Jones and cocked an eyebrow. "Beckett's people are pretty good. He'll live." The colonel's confidence was unwavering and his tone carefree.

"You'll never know if there are more of us." Jones inched back a step, angling for the balcony door.

Rodney flopped his hands with frustration. "Stunning you…not killing you. They'll get the information later." McKay turned to look at Dex and added, "You know Carson isn't going to be happy about you stunning him twice."

"Sheppard's ordered it both times," Ronon clarified. The runner let his gaze slide to McKay with a knowing smirk on his features. As he looked at the astrophysicist, Ronon simply squeezed the trigger.

The familiar red bolt of energy shot from the gun and slammed squarely into Beckett's chest. The dispersion of energy was enough to encompass both men.

They buckled to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Beckett's head clipped the corner of his desk with a solid thunk.

McKay cringed in sympathy.

The knife clattered harmlessly beside the collapsed duo.

"That's McGilly." McKay turned the question into statement.

Lorne merely nodded. The major kicked the blade away from the downed men.

"He from Iowa?" Ronon asked. It would go a long way to explain his proficiency with a blade. Dex wanted to visit this land of mythical beasts and brutal weather. It sounded like a place full of worthy challenges.

Lorne merely shrugged. "Some place like that…Iowa or Ohio or Idaho or something."

Sheppard sighed and sunk down in Beckett's small sofa. He tapped his radio with a tired hand and requested a medical team.

The colonel watched as Rodney limped toward Beckett and carefully squatted down, favoring his own myriad of injuries. He checked for Carson's pulse even though the Doc's chest rose and fell with the smooth effortless motion of a person in sleep or stunned.

"Eeewwww," McKay exclaimed and pulled his hand back sharply from Beckett's neck and slid to a seated position.

Sheppard sat up slightly concerned.

"He's drooling," McKay stated with a hint of disgust.

-------------------------------

Three hours later, Doctor Biro was pulling a sheet up over McGilly's autopsied form and walked from the room.

"Cyanide tablet," she stated to the waiting crowd. Doctor Weir remained motionless. Sheppard leaned against the wall tiredly and swore. Ronon grunted in disgust.

Suicide was a coward's way out.

-------------------------------

**14 hours later**

"Ohh, Iowa," Beckett breathed softly. "Home of the Corn Yeti." His head thrummed from the mild concussion he received from clunking his head against his own desk. His little bout of vomiting earned him an IV. If it didn't hurt so much he'd blame the colonel with more vigor about ordering him stunned twice. _Twice._

The return of his hearing was a mixed blessing.

"You've heard of the Corn Yeti?" Sheppard asked slightly amazed.

"You've been to Iowa?" McKay interrupted incredulously. Rodney lay on his own bed, injured leg propped on pillows with towel covered ice packs surrounding his knee.

"Aye," Beckett answered nodding an affirmative to both questions. "We got lost on our way to the Corn Palace, and found ourselves in Iowa." The doctor closed his eyes and melted a little more into his pillow.

"I'd say," Rodney retorted with a hint of disgust. "Who was reading the map? You?" McKay's tone folded indignation and knowing sarcasm into the question.

He knew the answer.

Beckett's body language simply confirmed the accuracy of his question.

Teyla rolled onto her side and saw the building argument.

_How would one mistakenly trip into such a dark and dire land unknowingly? Of course, these people had stumbled across a hive, killed its keeper, a queen no less and woke the Wraith._

"What was it like? This Iowa?" Teyla asked, more than slightly intrigued with this mystical land of demon creatures and hellacious weather. Iowa sounded frightful, a land that needed to be respected and feared.

"Ach, I don't know. It was at night, we were lost, and unfortunately almost out of petrol." Beckett shook his head at the memory. "We were forced to stop at a roadside petrol station for a refill."

"Wait, wait, wait….the Corn Palace?" McKay re-iterated with disbelief.

"Aye, we were on our way to Wall Drug, but decided to detour to the Corn Palace," Beckett stated matter-of-fact.

"Who were you traveling with?" Rodney pushed himself further up on his infirmary bed to stare incredulously at Beckett. _You think you know someone._ He winced at sudden resistance from fatigued and bruised muscles. "Tacky tourists are us?"

Beckett covered a yawned, dragging the IV line with the movement of his hand. He settled heavily on his side facing the colonel and Rodney. With half his face obscured by the pillow he sighed with a hint of longing, for times long passed. "Just some scientists from Cheyenne Mountain."

"I didn't go," Rodney pointed out with a touch of maudlin despondency. His tone caught Sheppard's ear. The colonel cast a sidelong look at the astrophysicist.

"Not because you weren't asked," Carson stated. He raised a hand to rub at his eyes.

"Don't," McKay ordered.

Beckett dropped his hand.

"Yeah well, see you two later. Mess will be closing soon. Ronon and I could use some real food." Sheppard patted his belly and smiled. "Come'n big guy," He turned on his heels and skirted around Dex, heading for the door.

Ronon grunted a general good-bye and followed a few steps behind the colonel. He furrowed his brow, deep in thought. As they approached the infirmary doors, he finally spoke up, directing his question to Sheppard. "Does this Corn Yeti live in the Corn Palace?"

Teyla raised her eyebrow and hoped to hear an answer, but the infirmary doors swished open and then shut cutting off the moving conversation.

She settled onto her side and contented herself with keeping an eye on Beckett and McKay in the next bays over. The Athosian smiled she waited for the inevitable biting conversation start. Her eyes drifted closed.

McKay leaned back against his pillow, enjoying the slight incline of his bed, however a troubled expression marred his features. He looked over at Beckett with a hint of disgust. "Iowa? You went to Iowa?"

Carson sighed with tired impatience. "Oh, good God man, it wasn't intentional." Beckett rubbed irritably at his chest, dragging the IV and line up under his blanket. "We were lost."

"I'd say." McKay rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. He absently followed the lines of the beams, the familiar ancient designs and wondered what places he would insist bringing Teyla and Ronon should they ever return to Earth?...They'd obviously go to Canada.

He listened as Beckett's breathing evened out and then roughened into slight snores. He turned his head slightly and stared Carson. He'd drag Beckett out with them too. Maybe stop by some tacky sites, just make the Scotsman feel at home.

The end.


End file.
